


White Knight Talking Backwards

by theredwagon



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Angst, Drama, Drug Addiction, Everyone!angst, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Gen, Hurt d'Artagnan, Suicidal Thoughts, show level violence and gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-18
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-08-25 15:17:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 35,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16663267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theredwagon/pseuds/theredwagon
Summary: Summary; Louis and a reluctant Treville send d’Artagnan to Kabul on what was supposed to be ‘a short mission, a week tops, and then you’re out’.  What happens there however, is the stuff of nightmares, can Athos, Aramis and Porthos help him back from the brink?  And what will be the consequences to all them if they fail?Last and final story in the Lonely Winds series :)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My wholehearted thanks and appreciation to Arduna for her suggestions, corrections and all around cheer-leading, without her I'd be lost!
> 
> This story is like an onion, folks, answers come slowly as you peel away at the layers ;)
> 
> Title; lovingly borrowed from the song ‘White Rabbit’ by Jefferson Airplane…by now I’m sure you’ve all figured out my age-ish ;)
> 
> Warnings; this one is kind of dark, and triggery since it deals with substance abuse and recovery, suicidal thoughts, psychotherapy, and of course show-level violence and angst. Please don’t continue if any of this could be painful for you. I wasn’t sure how/if I would to proceed with this but then someone reminded me that the show itself didn’t shy away from addiction since Athos is a (functioning?) alcoholic from the first episode and throughout most of the show and that his addiction fuelled some of the most dramatic scenes of the series. Also includes explicit sexual content and foul language. See notes at the end of the post please for more about the medical stuff!
> 
> Disclaimer; No money being made, no harm intended.

White Knight Talking Backwards – by theredwagon

Part 1 – Chasing Rabbits

 

**_Before_**

 

There’s a snick of a lock opening and the grating sound of corrugated metal dragging over concrete and he doesn’t even bother to open his eyes…not anymore.

In the beginning he’d fought; he’d fought so hard there isn’t an inch of him that isn’t bruised or scraped raw, same for his captors, he is not a man to go down easy, never has been. But later…later his defiance diminished and his struggles lessened and to his horror he began to relish the minute he heard the door screeching open. 

Someone comes in, he doesn’t bother to open his eyes and he offers up his left arm, there’re still veins there he knows, and he feels the elastic band encircle the bony limb. A drop of liquid falls on his skin, wasted, he thinks mournfully, and then the prick of the needle and he lets out a quiet sigh. He hears all the same sounds again, the metal scraping, the lock closing but he’s already drifting away and he simply doesn’t care.

In his dream, he’s in Louis’ office in full kit, dressed in his neatly pressed black uniform, his boots newly polished and shined, and he’s listening intently to what the Minister is saying.

_“It will be a short mission, a week tops in Kabul, you’ll have the support of one of the ANA* Captains, he’s working with SAS*. All you need to do is make the deal, and then you’re out.”  
_

_Treville looks worried and Athos, who is sitting beside him, balks angrily. “Sir, I don’t understand why you’ve chosen d’Artagnan, he doesn’t even work for the Agency anymore. And besides, can’t SAS use one of their own?”_

_Treville sighs. “The poppy growers will recognize any member of SAS as a soldier immediately, simply by their demeanor. D’Artagnan has spent years undercover, and he speaks Dari as well as French, some of the muscle is hired out from Algeria so it will be useful. Look, nobody actually chose him, the logistical program selected him as the best person for the job.”_

_“Um, hello, sitting right here?” d’Artagnan reminds them cheekily. “When do I leave, sir?”_

He jerks awake to the sound of gunfire and he hears a helicopter hovering but he’s not surprised or bothered. He’s been here long enough that these noises have become familiar, they’re everyday occurrences, so he shuts his eyes again and slips back into the dream.

_“And you’re not even going to tell me where you’re going?” Constance demands, Theo crying in her arms while d’Artagnan packs a bag._

_“I can’t, luv, you know that! It’s a one-off thing, and apparently I’m the best candidate for the job.”_

_“Aren’t you always?” she hisses. “Couldn’t you have just said no?”_

_“Maybe, but Louis and Treville seemed to think that there was no one else suitable.”_

The rusty door opens again and the noises outside become louder and seem closer now, the low hum of the helicopter hurts his ears and he tries to cover them but someone grabs his hand, and he feels the plastic tube squeeze his arm, the drip, drip on his skin and he’s getting another dose. 

Wait, _why?_

This time when it floods his veins there is no calm, cool breeze, no feeling like he’s floating over gentle waves, he feels sick and he gags, fighting the urge to vomit and he feels his body jerk painfully just before everything fades to grey.

_“You’ll take care of my girl right? I’m trusting you, brother,” he says to Aramis, and then he turns to Porthos, “both of you…Theo’s teething and he’s giving her a hard time…”_

_“Don’t worry, lad, everything is under control. It’s yourself you need to take care of, yeah?” Aramis tells him sternly. Porthos looks mighty displeased with him and when d’Artagnan goes to give him a hug, the big man holds him back. “If anything goes wrong, you abort, I don’t give a fuck if the Queen ‘erself is sending you, got it?”_

_D’Artagnan chuckles and Porthos grabs him into a tight bear hug and whispers in his ear. “Please, nothing stupid lad, alright?”_

The firefight continues outside but d’Artagnan no longer hears anything. Somewhere deep in his consciousness he knows it was too much, enough to kill him but there is simply nothing he can do to stop it. The spasms have trailed off to little tremors and he lays there, somewhere between this world and the next and he catches a fleeting glimpse in his head of the moment his cover had been blown and he grabs it, hoping the memory can keep him tethered just a little while longer.

_“Captain Stevenson trusted you!” d’Artagnan hisses, tempted to strangle the man weeping in the faded arm chair in his Kabul hotel room. He checks the clip on his Glock and grabs another from his duffle, shoving it on his pocket._

_“They have my son, they’re holding him hostage,” the ANA officer tells him, his whole body shaking from the force of his sobs and from his terror._

_He hears the sound of boots pounding down the hallway and the flimsy door is kicked in. D’Artagnan empties his clip without blinking an eye, taking down four men but three more appear, one shoots Captain Zahar in the head, the other two wrestle the empty gun from d’Artagnan, hitting him in the temple with the butt of his own weapon, rendering him unconscious._

His eyes open at the sound of an explosion, this time very close and he hears voices and he’s jerked back to full awareness by vomit burning his throat. With tremendous effort he turns his head and throws up. Nothing comes out, it’s just bile and spit but he can’t stop the dry heaving.  


The door screeches open and the sound of booted feet startles him. Until now it’s been the soft shuffling of sandaled feet or the quiet creep of worn trainers. The hard clop-clop of boots is new. 

“Zero Alpha this is Mockingbird, target has been located, we need the basket, no way ‘e’s goin’ up the rope.”

_Porthos?_

“Aramis!” the big man shouts frantically. “Medkit, _stat,_ we need Narcan in ‘ere!” 

Porthos is touching his forearms and his gloves chafe the sensitive skin and he lets out a pitiful groan.

“Hey, hey, d’Artagnan, it’s over, you’re fine, we’re goin’ ‘ome little brother,” he’s saying soothingly but there’s a buzzing in his ears that tells d’Artagnan otherwise. He feels hot and cold and suddenly he can’t breathe.

“ARAMIS!!” 

Another set of hands, no gloves, flitter over the track marks on his inner arms, and he hears Aramis’ voice, speaking to him softly and…oh God it’s really Aramis and Porthos, he thinks with such a sense of relief he feels tears flood his dry and itchy eyes.

“Jesus, lad, don’t start bawling like Theo now, eh?” Aramis teases shakily and he injects him with something on his thigh. How had he not realized that Aramis had yanked his trousers down?  


A few seconds pass and d’Artagnan thinks he feels…better, more aware, not as hazy.  


And then the hell begins.

 

**_Now – Day 4_**

 

“What are you doing here again, Porthos?”

Porthos grunts and gets to his feet, and begins to pace.

“Stupid question, ask me something else.”

D’Artagnan rolls over on the bed so his face is turned away, so he doesn’t have to look at his friend and boss. “Is she back?”

There’s a pause and d’Artagnan already knows the answer to his question. “Not yet, her mum is really enjoying their visit, she doesn’t get to see Theo very often so…”

“That’s a bollocks answer, and you fucking know it!” d’Artagnan snarls but he doesn’t move, doesn’t even turn his head, he keeps staring at the plain white wall, his body completely still. It’s rare that he gets a reprieve from the trembling and he’s relishing the feeling.

“It’s not permanent and she ‘asn’t left you! She said she’d never do that, ever, but she needs some time and Theo needs stability.”

“I keep thinking ‘it won’t happen again’ but she’s left me before, and every time she ‘as I’ve needed her so fucking badly, but she just goes...shows up some time later when all the broken parts are glued back together…every time with less and less precision mind you, I feel like a fucking puzzle with torn edges and missing pieces…” he mutters and he realises it’s the most he’s shared with anyone voluntarily in a long time.

“She left you once because you were an idiot, the second time she was kidnapped you fool!”

“I was in critical care, Porthos, when she willingly went with you lot to France! And what about now, hmn? Are you gonna tell me someone forced her to drive all the way to fucking Preston…with my son…at gunpoint?” he sneers. 

“You frightened her, lad, she ‘ad to put Theo’s safety first! You were using on the sly and you were all over the fuckin’ place, we’ve been over this a dozen times, why do you keep asking? Even Athos didn’t know what to do with you and that’s sayin’ something!”

D’Artagnan flips over and puts both hands under his head, locking his fingers together tightly, trying very hard to keep himself in check. “Athos didn’t know what to do with me?” he asks curiously, his tone stone cold. “That makes me sound like a stray dog that no one wants so they dump ‘im in the pound.”

Porthos stiffens and his face crumples and moves to sit down in a hard plastic chair by the window, his gaze fixed outside through the wired safety glass. “I’m so sorry, lad, so fucking sorry,” he says dully. “None of this is your fault, Louis should ‘ave never sent you to Kabul, Treville should’ve put his foot down before you were even asked…”

“And I should have said no,” d’Artagnan admits anguished. “But it sounded so…”

“Tempting to be back in action? I know, I get it, what you’re doin’ now is a lot less exciting, but it’s a helluva lot better for you and your family…if you exclude the occasional exploding building ‘ere and there,” Porthos adds, turning back to look at him. It’s an attempt at ironic humour but it falls flat for both of them.

It’s getting close to the time for his meds and he feels it. He gets antsy right before, his body is letting him know that he’s gone just a little bit too long without them. Every day the schedule changes, stretching out the hours in between so that his body can adjust. He knows the drill, this is the second time he’s going through this. The first time he’d gone through the detox process, when they’d brought him home from Kabul, it had been easier though, because he’d also been suffering from dehydration, malnutrition, persistent atrial fibrillation and stress-induced exhaustion so he’d spent long hours sleeping, and Constance had been with him, encouraging him, holding him through the worst of the withdrawal symptoms, promising him it would get better. And he’d believed her of course and he’d been very patient for her sake…and of course for Theo’s sake. 

Now though…now he thinks he might not really care anymore.

“Aramis’ll be ‘ere soon, he’s bringing cake apparently, says it works wonders for anything that ails you.”

“Aramis can _suck my cock!_ He’s probably thrilled that Constance has fucked off again, I bet ‘e’s just waiting for his chance to…”

Porthos cuts off d’Artagnan’s tirade when he slams his hand on the small table beside him and jumps to his feet, knocking down his chair. “Oh now you’ve truly gone bonkers, ‘aven’t you! Stupid, foolish little twat! How could you even think that?” he roars.

A moment passes and so does d’Artagnan’s temporary madness. Of course he knows that’s not true, he’s just being childish, using Constance and Aramis’ close friendship as a way to hurt himself more than anyone else. Porthos says nothing more but d’Artagnan hears the sound of his breathing, harsh and fast…and angry. 

D’Artagnan suddenly feels utterly bereft and ashamed and he blinks, one tear falling, then another and the floodgates swing open completely against his will.

Porthos drags a chair beside his bed and he sits quietly and just allows him to cry. Porthos knows him so well, d’Artagnan thinks, snot and tears running down his face, knows that he’ll feel a little bit better when it passes and his brother just waits patiently, reassuring him that he’s there but not pushing, biding his time for the right moment to lay on the gentle but firm lecture that d’Artagnan knows is coming.

And of course, it does.

“When I look back at everything that’s ‘appened over the years I realize that we’ve all had our fair share of injuries and PTSD and loads of pain, loads and loads of pain to be honest, and you’ve always been the one to bounce back quickest, even when it was really bad. I thought you wouldn’t make it when Marcheaux shot you, honestly, you were so fuckin’ sick I was convinced we’d lose you. But sure enough, you pulled through and you clawed your way back to come work with me. And you’ve made me so fucking proud, lad, there isn’t a man that comes close to you in SO25, probably not in any SO unit for that matter, and I know you’ll beat this. Now, I’m sorry that I wasn’t as patient as I should ‘ve been when they sent you home, I wanted you to be ok stat, back to normal and back to work but that was unrealistic and that’s on me, not you. This is NOT your fault, accept that first and then we’ll take it one step ‘atta time. I’ll be ‘ere, brother, by your side, holding you up if need be, beating the shite outta you if it’s called for, or just listenin’ to you talk if it ‘elps.”

D’Artagnan hears the words though Porthos needn’t have even said them; he knows that this man will always be his friend, his brother in every way. But with each passing day this feels like a battle he may not win, something he might not bounce back from because the damage is permanent, it’s forever, and d’Artagnan has never had to face an obstacle like this before.

Even before Athos had told him his personal story they’d all known he’d had a close call with alcoholism and prescription drug use because he’d always wanted full disclosure. And d’Artagnan had watched Athos wrestle with threat of addiction through all the years he’s known him; it had taken a will of steel for the older man to keep himself in check, to limit himself to one drink here and there, a beer at the pub or a brandy after dinner and to allow painkillers to be administered only when absolutely necessary. But he’d managed to do so because he was raised like that; to be in control at all times and to keep his excesses to a bare minimum and once the temporary madness had passed after the loss of his family Athos’ austere upbringing had saved his life.

Athos hadn’t gone to rehab after the murders that had triggered his downward spiral which had been fuelled by grief and fed by prescription drugs and alcohol; Treville had instead forcibly enrolled him in the military and it had worked for Athos, he’d reigned himself in on his own, without the help of counseling or controlled withdrawal, he’d simply taken advantage of the rigorous protocols of army life in order to get clean and stay clean, to keep him on the straight and narrow and to remind him of who he was, and who he’d like to be again. 

D’Artagnan however hadn’t had the strict confines of the military to keep him in line and despite the fact he’d gone home from the hospital clean as a whistle and in relatively good health, he’d fallen apart within days of being without some sort of professional supervision. It shamed him to no end; he’d been to hell and back so many times, he’d seen things most people couldn’t imagine in their worst nightmares and been shot, stabbed, and blown up more than the average soldier or spy and always landed on his feet. For this to be his undoing would be the ultimate disgrace, the worst dishonour to himself, his family and his friends as well as to his colleagues and his country. 

“You’re thinking out loud,” Porthos says gently. “You could never dishonour yourself, d’Artagnan, you’ve done too much good in your life for it to be cancelled out by a little setback.”

D’Artagnan flinches, and his stomach twists. “A little setback? I’m addicted to heroin, Porthos, I crave it, I ache for it, this is not just a little setback, brother, this is the end of everything for me,” he informs him anguished. “I can never be what I was, I can never be trusted again.”

Porthos nods, considering and then he looks at him quizzically. “Tell me something; you left here clean and then just a week or so later you went looking to buy heroin. Do you know why you did that?”

D’Artagnan considers at the question. Does he know? His therapist, Rory, had asked him the same question yesterday and he hadn’t been able to give him a straight answer. There was so much going on in his head when he’d been released, he’d been afraid of what Constance and his brothers might really be thinking, terrified his parents would find out, worried that Sylvie would remove him from active duty for a prolonged amount of time. And the scars…the scars were a permanent reminder of his complete and total humiliation, a reminder that he’d been weak and needy, that he’d allowed those Taliban wankers to inject him towards the end without putting up even a token fight.

They’re interrupted by the appearance of Aramis, who is indeed carrying a bag from d’Artagnan’s favourite bakery. When their eyes lock, d’Artagnan feels like a complete tosser and he’s engulfed by guilt for what he’d said earlier; of course he hadn’t meant it, neither Aramis nor Constance would ever betray him or their friendship in that way, but he wasn’t thinking straight; in all honesty he finds it’s very hard most of the time to focus on anything but his next dose of meds.

The smile fades slightly from Aramis’ face but he does a valiant job of keeping his expression cheerful and d’Artagnan thinks he doesn’t deserve these people; he’s damaged and dirty and had fallen down the rabbit hole far too easily for anyone to still care for him. The thought brings fresh tears but he bites them back, he’s done enough weeping for one day he thinks, disgusted with himself.

“I’m expecting an answer to my question,” Porthos reminds him quietly. “Think on it, yeah?”

D’Artagnan doesn’t reply and Porthos thankfully doesn’t push. Aramis takes a box from the bag and declares happily “Red velvet, your favourite.”

“Thanks,” d’Artagnan says sincerely but there’s no way he can eat even a bite; the nausea has kicked in and he knows it’s simply a matter of time before his stomach begins to ache and his muscles start to twitch. “Aramis, can you check my chart? Is it time for my meds? I feel awful,” he admits, embarrassed.

Aramis puts the box with the cupcakes on the table by the window and then comes to have a look at his chart, taking the time to go through all the pages to check his blood work before setting it back in its place on the foot of his bed. 

“Another hour or so lad,” he informs him evenly, and d’Artagnan thinks his brother looks particularly tense, as if he’s expecting an outburst. 

Justifiably so, since he’d done just that the previous morning, but d’Artagnan is determined to try harder to manage his emotions and his physical outbursts; despite Athos and Aramis’ protests that they’d had it under control two burly nurses had restrained d’Artagnan and left him strapped to the bed with the doctor’s approval until his next dose of meds had arrived to take the edge off and calm him down.

Porthos wordlessly gives his chair to Aramis and he retreats to stand by the window, obviously to give Aramis a chance to sit with d’Artagnan more privately. By now feeling awful had turned to dreadful and it’s quickly on its way to unbearable. 

“Do you want me to read to you a bit? I downloaded that book I mentioned yesterday, the one about the steam punk detectives?”

“No…but thanks, I appreciate it,” d’Artagnan croaks, curling into himself against the pain in his belly. 

“You need a shave my boy, tomorrow I’ll bring my trimmer, clean up that beard a bit, maybe cut your hair as well? Do you have clean clothes or should I bring some for you?” Aramis asks, droning on about mundane things that d’Artagnan could not care less about. He doesn’t give a fuck what he looks like or if his clothes reek, he just wants the pain to stop. 

And he wants his son; he hasn’t seen Theo in five days and it feel like a month. He misses his little chubby face and his huge blue eyes, messy dark curls and smooth honey-coloured skin, the smell of his clothes and sounds he makes when he’s trying to sleep. D’Artagnan chokes on a sob and curls in tighter, hiding his face from Aramis and Porthos who probably either pity him or are disgusted by him. Either way, he can’t deal with them right now.

“Athos is planning to bring a TV to hook up to your laptop so we can watch the match tomorrow, this one here is ancient, no HDMI. Since you can’t go to the pub, we’ll bring the pub to you, maybe we can sneak in some wings and or a pizza, or maybe Asian, I know you like…”

“Stop, please,” d’Artagnan croaks, overwhelmed. He knows that Aramis means well but he feels like he’s going to hurl. And he certainly can’t imagine trying to watch football while fighting the shakes and vomiting up his insides.

The pain in his limbs sharpens and he moans. His dignity has fucked off for the day anyway so he doesn’t even try to hide the pitiful sounds he’s making. If his brothers are uncomfortable or disappointed they can go the way of his pride and fuck off too.

They don’t, of course, which simply heightens his shame. Someone sits on the bed, Aramis he thinks, he feels him shifting around and then he hauls d’Artagnan up and lays him gently on a pillow…that he’s positioned on his _lap._ Mortified, d’Artagnan’s first instinct is to pull away but Aramis puts one strong hand on his back and holds him still. Too tired and in too much agony to fight, he stays put.

Aramis tentatively begins to rub his back and when d’Artagnan leans into the soothing touch Aramis continues with more vigor. It doesn’t actually relieve any of his pain but it grounds him, keeps him tethered and blocks out some of the horror and the fear.

But most importantly, it reminds him that he isn’t alone.

 

**_Before_**

 

“What’s going on? I know you lot didn’t come over just to shoot the shit, go on, what do you want?”

Athos is silent but d’Artagnan knows he is seething. Porthos looks very uncomfortable and Aramis…Aramis’ gaze borders on…pity?

“Constance called, she said she was going to visit her Mum, out of the blue, asked if she could take a few ‘personal days’,” Athos explains slowly, standing above him, hands on his hips. “Is there something you want to tell us d’Artagnan?”

He’s literally sitting on his hands on the edge of the sofa so the others can’t see them shaking. 

“We had a disagreement, she wanted some time away, why is it such a big deal, have none of you ever had a fight with their partner?” he asks casually.

Athos frowns. “Of course, but she also told me you’ve been behaving erratically and that you’ve only attended one counselling session, you know you have to go three times a week to avoid relapse, why haven’t you been going?”

“Because I’m not gonna relapse,” he says defiantly.

“Can I check you over, lad, just to make sure there’s nothing wrong with you…medically?” Aramis asks softly. “Something as simple as low electrolytes can make your behaviour seen strange, you don’t look like you’ve been eating properly and I doubt you drink anything aside from coffee.”

“Is this an intervention?” d’Artagnan snarls and he gets to his feet, digging his hands into the pockets of his overly-large jeans and he begins to pace the length of the lounge. “What about you, Porthos, don’t you ‘ave anything to say or are you just the muscle?”

Porthos looked shocked and hurt and d’Artagnan feels like a right twat but he’s also afraid…very, very afraid.

“It will take Aramis five minutes to check your blood pressure, take your pulse, examine you for dehydration and take some blood for testing in case you have some kind of imbalance or deficiency. After that we’ll leave you alone,” Athos informs him flatly. 

“I’m not sick or imbalanced or...or depressed, I had a fight with Constance because she was nagging me like you lot are!” he exclaims angrily.

“D’Artagnan, I know that you haven’t gone for any of your scheduled medical follow ups, the hospital rang Porthos this morning because you weren’t answering. I need to know if there’s something physically wrong with you lad, so can be treated appropriately,” Aramis insists gently.

The only way to persuade them to leave him alone is to change tactics so he stops pacing and pulls out one of the dining chairs and falls into it tiredly.

“There’s nothing wrong with me, lads, I’m just very tired and I’ve been having some trouble sleeping,” he admits. That is certainly not a lie, he jerks awake at least twice during the night in a cold sweat but not for the reasons they might think.

“Child, you’ve been through a very difficult ordeal, nightmares are to be expected,” Athos tells him in a much kinder tone. The older man closes the gap between them and lays his hand on his shoulder. D’Artagnan has to steel himself not to jerk away from his brother’s touch.

“We can’t ‘elp you though if you don’t tell us exactly what’s going on,” Porthos reasons, finally breaking his silence. 

D’Artagnan takes a good look at the three of them; these are his brothers and his closest friends, and aside from Constance the only people who could ever understand his fears and his pain and the reasons for his nightmares. But this is one thing he cannot share with them. If he does, he will lose them forever, along with Constance and Theo and his career, and then life will simply no longer be worth living.

“It’s just…you know, nightmares and flashbacks,” d’Artagnan lies, so filled with self-loathing he’s sure they can see right through him but he has no other choice so he continues. “It’s been difficult trying to adjust; it feels like I’ve been away for months instead of weeks.”

“Why didn’t you say, child?” Athos asks worriedly. “I must have asked you a dozen times if you wanted to talk and you repeatedly said no, frankly I was at wit’s end worrying, you’ve been so…distant.” 

Aramis grabs his bag and begins removing various items and a spike of terror stabs through d’Artagnan’s chest. “Aramis, really you don’t have to bother, I’m fine, brother, truly, just stressed…” he says, fumbling over the words and this makes Athos stiffen immediately.

“Aramis, start with his blood pressure and we’ll take it from there,” Athos said evenly and d’Artagnan has no choice but to comply. He bares his arm and although it’s marred by track marks none of them are fresh.

Aramis is careful to keep his expression neutral as d’Artagnan sees his gaze flutter over the mess of needle marks but his friend passes the cuff over his arm without saying a word. 

“I need to take a piss,” Porthos announces and d’Artagnan feels his heart leap; is there any chance he’s left anything lying around in the bathroom?

“Lad, your blood pressure is way too high and you’re pulse is racing, do you feel sick or dizzy? When’s the last time you ate and what was it?” Aramis is asking as he removes a stethoscope from his bag and indicates that he should lift up his shirt. The medic listens to his heart and then his lungs, advising him when to breathe normally and when to inhale and exhale and all the while Porthos is still in the toilet and d’Artagnan thinks he’s going to have a panic attack. 

“You’ve got a slight arrhythmia as well, aren’t you taking your meds for that?”

D’Artagnan doesn’t reply and Aramis turns to Athos. “Something is definitely wrong, we should take him to A&E, he probably needs a saline drip, I suspect he’s low on electrolytes and he’ll probably need a potassium drip as well, it will only take an hour or two…” he is explaining but before d’Artagnan can actually freak out Porthos returns from the toilet and he looks like he is ready to explode.

“It’s a damn good thing you’re on leave because if you’d been on duty I’d ‘ave no choice but to fire you and detain you,” he says in a voice so heavy with disappointment d’Artagnan wants to cry.

Athos spins around. “Porthos?”

“Aramis, yank his trousers down, I’m sure you’ll find the proof of his ails! ‘e’s not sick he needs a fuckin’ fix!”

Aramis tosses aside the stethoscope and grabs his wrist tightly. “Tell me he’s wrong, lad, please,” Aramis implores.

D’Artagnan bolts from the chair and pushes both Aramis and Athos aside but he doesn’t get far because Porthos grabs him and pins his arms behind his back. “Drop your trousers so I can check for fresh track marks or I will drag them down myself,” his boss hisses in his ear and he lets go of his arms to give him a chance to comply. 

“So that you can ‘fire me and detain me’?” d’Artagnan shoots back. 

“No you stupid sod, so that I can ‘elp you,” Porthos replies hoarsely. 

“Do as he says, child,” Athos says quietly.

D’Artagnan takes a moment to look at each one of them, to see the disappointment and the disillusionment on their faces before he bolts for his bedroom and locks the door. He throws himself on his bed and buries his face in a pillow – Constance’s pillow, it smells like her shampoo – and his body is trembling because Porthos is correct, he’s not ill but he hasn’t used since early this morning and he feels sick and achy all over. The door opens because The Crown Jewels aren’t safe from Porthos, let alone the flimsy lock on his bedroom door, but he doesn’t move, he can’t, he’s both too ashamed and too unsteady to do so.

“It’s alright, lad, we’ll fix this, it’s our fault, we should have watched you closer,” Aramis is saying, and his voice is so calming and his tone so sincere he wants to weep. No one can help him though, the best have already tried and failed.

There’s the sound of a clip being removed from a handgun, then another and he assumes that Porthos will probably confiscate his weapons.

“Those clips are empty, Porthos, I um, I did that a few days ago,” Aramis says quietly, but d’Artagnan hears him and his shame keeps mounting. Had Aramis expected this?

“This is my fault, I knew something was off but I gave him time to sort himself out,” Athos says hoarsely and he sounds so defeated it’s like a knife in d’Artagnan’s heart.

“This is no one’s fault but mine,” d’Artagnan says finally, resigned and utterly humiliated. “I was weak…spineless, and I understand if you have to arrest me, Boss,” he tells Porthos dully, turning over very carefully, shoving his hands under his thighs to control the shaking, not looking at any of them. “But before you do, please, I need to get clean, I can’t detox in prison, I’d rather you just shoot me in the head than send me to prison like this.” 

Porthos lets out a sob. “I’m not going to arrest you, you stupid twat, I want you to get well! Why didn’t you tell us? We would ‘ave done anything…anything to help you!

“Because of _this_ ,” d’Artagnan hisses, “because of the disappointment I see in your eyes and the shame I feel because of it, that’s why I didn’t tell you!” One tear falls then another and then he’s sobbing loudly like a five year old but he simply doesn’t care. “My life is over anyway, Constance ‘as taken Theo away, and I can never be trusted to work in law enforcement again, just leave me my Glock and a full clip, I’ll make it look like an accident so that no one’s embarrassed…I was cleaning my gun and I was careless, it happens all the time…” he says, tears and snot running down his face unchecked as he speaks, and it occurs to him that he’s finally hit rock bottom. So many years of doing the most difficult job imaginable, facing injury and death every day, fearing for his brothers and for Constance and while trying to uphold the oath he’d taken to keep his country safe and he’s never felt as afraid and desperate as he does at that moment. 

“Enough!” Athos roars and he sinks heavily onto the bed next to him. “Your life is not over you ridiculous child! But it could have been if we hadn’t found out, you might have overdosed or accidentally hurt yourself…”

“Accidentally?” d’Artagnan retorts sarcastically and Athos does something so shocking d’Artagnan is literally stunned speechless; he slaps him, hard.

And d’Artagnan thinks, ‘I was wrong… _this_ is rock bottom’.

 

**_Now - Day 6_**

 

“What the fuck is going on in here!”

D’Artagnan stops struggling the minute he hears his brother’s voice but the two burly nurses pinning him down don’t seem fazed by the appearance of his beloved friend.

“You have 10 seconds to tell me why you have one of Her Majesty’s Government’s most decorated operatives pinned to the fucking floor before I have you both arrested for assault!”

“He’s mental, mate, you try ‘n control ‘im!” one of them sneers.

“Five seconds to let him go and get the fuck out of my sight!”

Neither one of them budges, and whoever is pushing d’Artagnan’s cheek against the gritty lino pushes even harder.

“I hope you’ve both got someone to come bail you out,” Aramis snarls and that’s when they finally let go and leave the room, slamming the door hard behind them.

D’Artagnan knows when Aramis is kneeling beside him from the scent of his aftershave, clean, fresh and so distinctly Aramis it triggers a Pavlovian response of complete and utter relief. The other man gently lifts d’Artagnan, who feels too numb and boneless to help him until he’s sitting up and Aramis pulls him into his arms. “What happened, lad, are you alright? You’re shaking, talk to me.”

D’Artagnan buries his face in Aramis’ shirt and just breathes. He needs a moment to calm down and Aramis doesn’t insist, he just tightens his arms around him, offering him the comfort he craves to calm his racing heart.

“Are you hurt anywhere?” Aramis asks cautiously after a few moments.

“No.”

“Do you want to get up?”

D’Artagnan wiggles his way closer into Aramis’ soothing embrace and says nothing. Thankfully, his brother understands. They remain like that for a few more minutes until d’Artagnan decides he’s ready to face him. He pulls back slightly and then Aramis takes the lead and helps him to his feet and onto the bed. He imagines he must look awful and he can see from Aramis’ expression that the other man probably agrees.

“Talk to me, lad, please tell me what just happened so I can make it right.”

D’Artagnan lets out a breath. “I appreciate the sentiment, brother, but there’s simply some things you can’t fix,” he says dully, his gaze focused on the ceiling.

“Hmn, I should be offended,” Aramis teases, clearly trying to lighten the mood. “I thought my legendary charm could fix anything.”

“Most of the time,” d’Artagnan agrees, “but you can’t fix my head.”

“Are you going to tell me what happened? I’ll be the judge of what I can fix and what I can’t.”

“I fell asleep and that shithead Dave startled me awake; this is a fucking military facility, most of us are or were squaddies, don’t these wankers know how to deal with soldiers and coppers? It was a reflex, I didn’t mean to ‘urt ‘im but I might ‘ave killed him if that other bloke hadn’t showed up.”

Aramis nods slowly. “You’re absolutely correct, brother, no one should be poking at sleeping soldiers or any kind of covert operatives for that matter. We are regrettably trained to kill, it’s not your fault, I’ll have a word, make sure that it doesn’t happen again, alright?”

“He kept going on and on about me being a freak, a mental case and a junkie…”

Aramis grabs his hand and squeezes. “You know damn well that you’re none of those things, you’re a hero and a highly respected member of one of the most elite units in this country, I bet that SO25 can barely function with you on leave.”

D’Artagnan snorts because he knows that’s an exaggeration but then he can’t help it, he chuckles. “Don’t let Porthos hear you say that.”

“Porthos knows it as well, trust me. God-damned wanker bruised your face, I’m going to report him, stupid fucker,” Aramis growls and he runs his fingers over d’Artagnan’s cheek and jaw, checking for any serious injury.

“Don’t bother, I can ‘andle him,” d’Artagnan insists. “I’m ok, brother, I promise.”

Aramis sits in the hard plastic chair beside his bed and let out a long breath. “You don’t look fine, lad, you look exhausted and I know you’re not eating. Should I run out and bring you a take away or some pastries? Or even those disgusting sugary jellies you like?”

D’Artagnan reaches for Aramis’ hand and he grabs it, holding it tight, he knows he’s clinging but Aramis is the most tactile person he knows and the fact that he showers physical affection on those he loves makes it easy for d’Artagnan to take what his brother offers freely. Porthos is a hugger but definitely not a cuddler, and Athos is mostly uncomfortable with physical contact, although when it comes to d’Artagnan and Constance he’s always made the tiniest exception, something that d’Artagnan is very grateful for.

“I’m having a particularly bad day, brother. My doctor reminded me that the withdrawal symptoms would peak at some point and it seems like today might be that day.”

Aramis squeezes his hand gently. “Even with the medication?”

D’Artagnan nods. “Yes, it’s not methadone, you know that, it’s just stuff to help me deal with the symptoms and they give me less every day, so yeah, I was trying to sleep through the shakes when that fucker Dave came and woke me for physio, and not gently the bastard!”

Aramis nods. “Would you like to go to physio now? I’ll take you and stay there until you’re done and after I’ll pop out and get you some spring rolls, maybe some noodles if you’re up to it.”

“No, my stomach is cramping too badly,” d’Artagnan admits and he lets go of Aramis’ hand to push a pillow against his stomach. It doesn’t actually help but it feels comforting.

Aramis gets to his feet and he goes over to the window where he closes the blinds half way. He then slides off his trainers and gets into bed beside d’Artagnan, his back against the cheap formica headboard. He puts one strong hand on d’Artagnan’s neck and the other in his hair, fingers gently soothing and comforting.

“Aren’t you supposed to be at work?” d’Artagnan asks. He doesn’t want him to leave but he hates the idea that his brothers have put their busy lives on hold because of his failures.

“No, my boss has given me two weeks paid personal leave,” Aramis replies cheekily. “The newbie agents and coppers will just have to do without their firearms lessons until I go back, they’ll survive.”

D’Artagnan groans. “So in other words Porthos gave you time off to baby sit me?”

“No lad, he gave me time off so I could be by you side, keep you company and bring you cake. Besides, you did the same for me, sans the cake, when I was shot, remember? You practically moved into my flat, wouldn’t even let me use the remote to change the program on my own, why shouldn’t I do the same for you?”

“You were shot in the line of duty, I _shot-up_ because I’m a useless git, not really the same thing, mate.”

“I hate when you talk about yourself like that,” Aramis replies with a tired sigh.

“Come on, brother even you lot think I’m fucked up and you know it! How many times have the three of you ripped me a new one for being ‘a stupid twat’ – Porthos’ favourite by the way, and Athos still looks at me like a child…he can’t stop calling me one…and you my friend think I’m selfish because I sometimes put myself in danger, mostly to save lives mind you, but that doesn’t seem to matter to any of you…”

“Alright, enough, I get it, we’re dicks…but it’s because we care, d’Artagnan,” Aramis retorts putting emphasis on his name, and suddenly his hands are gone and d’Artagnan immediately feels the loss of his touch. But he’s still sitting on the bed beside him, his thigh pressed against d’Artagnan’s back and he finds himself pushing back to feel his brother’s warm, solid body tighter against his. Almost at once Aramis’ hands fall back onto his shoulders and he squeezes him lightly around the nape of his neck.

“We might be rubbish at expressing ourselves but you know damn well that we love you. I haven’t been in combat for so long that I could barely remember how to kit up. And Porthos has never seen live action and yet we came for you; us, me, Porthos and Athos too, he was running comms, and even though SAS had promised us they would get you home safe we flat out refused to stay back and watch, no fucking way were we going to leave your fate in anyone else’s hands.” He pauses for a moment and lets out a long sigh. “Porthos went mental when he realised what they’d done to you, wouldn’t let go of you for one second until we were back at the base hospital. He was like a bear with her cub, hovering and making sure everything that was done to you was approved by me and me alone.”

D’Artagnan pushes the pillow tighter against his belly and lets out a tiny sob; he doesn’t want to cry again, he’s been doing way too much of that these days and it makes him feel even weaker and more fragile than a fine china vase with an ugly, jagged crack running through it and he grinds his teeth tightly together and clamps him mouth shut. Aramis continues to speak, softly, filling in some of the gaps in his memory, but as he does so the cramps increase and d’Artagnan begins to tremble and he pries his teeth apart to let out a harsh gasp. 

“D’Artagnan?” Aramis asks sharply, turning him over as gently as possible. “Talk to me, lad, tell me what’s happening.”

“Get the doctor…please brother…make it stop…” he croaks. Fuckin’ ‘ell, it feels like his insides are being gnawed on by a thousand hungry rats.

Aramis hits the call button and then jumps off the bed, returning seconds later with a wet towel which he uses on d’Artagnan’s face a neck. He’s cursing under his breath because no one’s come yet and suddenly d’Artagnan feels like he’s falling, and his hands let go of the pillow and go slack and he blinks, once, twice, trying to focus on Aramis, who’s holding his burning face in his cool hands and talking to him, softly and patiently.

Moments later he thinks he might be screaming, he can hear the sound in his head, and then like a switch has been flipped everything goes black.

 

**_Now – Day 7_**

 

He’s not allowed to attend group therapy. Although he’s in a military facility which means all patients are either government or army his identity as an Agency operative and now an SO25 operative must be kept classified as a matter of national security. Private sessions are easier for him anyway, less shameful, but he knows that tomorrow Rory has asked Athos, Aramis and Porthos to attend and he’s feeling very anxious.

He’s pacing his room, worrying about what they’ll say and the fact that his stomach is once again cramping doesn’t help. It’s not nearly as bad a as yesterday when Aramis had come, that was so fucking horrific he thought he would simply die from the pain. In the end he’d passed out but fortunately…or unfortunately, depending on how one looks at it, he’d survived. Today along with the cramps he’s also nauseous and jittery and intermittently tempted to try to just walk out and go home.

His day hadn’t been a complete shite though, earlier he’d had one fleeting moment of euphoria that had absolutely nothing to do with drugs, legal or otherwise; Constance had sent him a video of Theo playing in the bath.

At first, he couldn’t watch it, it was just too painful to see his son’s chubby little face and know he’d mucked up everything he and Constance had spent years building. Later though he’d watched it on a loop for ages, and it was so soothing it lulled him into sleep. When he woke the battery in his phone had gone dead from playing the video and he’d nearly trashed his room looking for his charger – which was actually beside his bed as always - and he’d drawn the attention of the nurse, that tosser Dave, who’d threatened to have him restrained. 

_Restrained_

Jesus fuck, how low has he fallen?

The door is buzzed open and to his surprise Athos enters. He hadn’t been expecting him, he should be at work at this time of day, he has a much more rigid schedule than the rest of them since he is under the direct command of that wanker Louis. But he’s there, sans the cane, something that d’Artagnan had barely noticed while being wrapped up so tightly in his own crap.  
D’Artagnan stops pacing and he tries to give Athos an encouraging smile, at least that what he hopes it looks like. “Brother, when did you ditch the cane? I’m…you seem…”

Athos cuts him off with a raised hand and a small smile. “It’s the new physiotherapist, she’s incredible, and you know the surgery helped of course,” he says, reminding d’Artagnan of the surgery and reconstruction he’d had after the blast. “Sit down, child, you look ready to fall down. Have you eaten today? I won’t find your roast in the bathroom bin again will I?”

D’Artagnan stiffens. “I ate the mash, the meat was unidentifiable.” 

“Tomorrow I’ll bring some of your favourites when we come in for our group therapy. What about physio, have you gone today?”

“No, I’ve been naughty so I’m on lockdown, again,” he says sarcastically and he flops onto his bed like a sullen teenager.

“Child, what have you done?” Athos asks, clearly worried it’s something horrible.

“Nothing!” he barks. “I couldn’t find my mobile charger and the nurse thought I was trashing the room or looking for drugs or whatever, that wanker threatened to restrain me and then told the doctor I was violent.”

“Was it that bastard Dave again? Aramis told me what happened, someone will get a bollocking for sure, I told them to move him out of your ward yesterday!”

D’Artagnan looks at him, stunned. “You can do that? Then speak to the doctor and get me to physio, I’m going mental in here!”

Athos sits in the chair beside him and lets out a tired sigh. “Lad, after what you’ve been through Louis has given full carte blanche to make sure you get the best care, that’s why you have a private room and unrestricted visiting hours. He feels guilty, you know, I didn’t expect it myself but he truly feels bad about everything. I will personally take you to physio when I leave, don’t worry.”

It’s just physio but d’Artagnan feels like Athos has just parted the Red Sea. It’s funny what you appreciate after days in forced rehab, things like shoelaces on your trainers and a butter knife with your food feel like a major victory. 

“I um, I got a video, from Constance, Theo having his bath, do you want to see it?” he asks, the proud father in him pushing everything else aside.

Athos’ face lights up in a way d’Artagnan would have never dreamed possible at the mention of baby videos. “Of course, he’s such a bright child,” Athos muses, as if he’d thought that all babies did was cry and shit. “I hadn’t thought I’d enjoy spending time with him you know, but he’s quite smart and very cheeky, a lot like his father.”

Chuffed, d’Artagnan reaches for his (now charged) phone and once it’s in his hand he hesitates for a moment. “Athos, do you think she’ll come back to me?” he asks, feeling about as vulnerable as a lost toddler roaming the high street on his own.

“Of course she will, child, and I’m not simply trying to placate you. We speak, every day, she calls me mind you, not the other way around, and she rings the others as well. I think she spends more time on the phone with us than she does with Theo to be honest. She said quite clearly that she’s coming back; she only left because she was worried about your son and not because she doesn’t love you.”

D’Artagnan nods slowly. “I needed her brother, and she walked out…again, even if she does come home I don’t know if things will ever be the same,” he says honestly.

“D’Artagnan she had to go, there was no other choice, you were combative and anxious and could barely hold Theo because your hands shook non-stop. I saw you lad, you were wound tighter than a two-pound watch, you might have accidentally hurt your son.”

“Yeah, alright, but why all the way to Preston and not to Porthos’ or something?” he challenges.

“So that your parents wouldn’t be suspicious, you know this already! She told your mum she was going to Preston because someone in her family was ill and she left it at that. It’s not like your mother hasn’t suspected something’s wrong, mind you, what have you told her? She rang me, looking for you, I told her you were fine, just busy with work.”

“Athos my mum can never know about this…ever, it’ll kill ‘er, she won’t understand,” d’Artagnan says, panicked.

“Your condition is classified and completely off the record, that includes your personnel file, no one will tell her unless you feel that you want to yourself at some point.”

“Fuck no…never,” he replies hoarsely. 

“I um, I have a bit of news that I thought might cheer you up. They found Captain Zahar’s son, alive, he and his mum and sister have been relocated for their safety. The ANA have found them a new home and a job for Zahar’s widow and she’ll get his pension as well. I knew you were worried about the child so I had Treville follow up with SAS.”

“That is good news, thanks for telling me. You know I almost understand why Zahar gave me up, I tried to put myself in his place now that I’ve got Theo ‘n all that.”

“There’s something else; SAS launched a second phase offensive after you were rescued. Once Aramis and Porthos med-evac’d you SAS hit the compound until it was obliterated, your captors as well, not one left, lad, all of them red-misted. I would have told you sooner but Treville had to call in favours to get the information from Military Command so we’ve only just found out all the details. I know it doesn’t change anything for you but it’s good know that there are a dozen or so less opium-dealing Taliban wankers to worry about.”

For a moment, d’Artagnan feels completely numb; he should be thrilled at the news, he’s actually imagined getting his own revenge on more than one occasion over the past few weeks so to hear that they are all dead feels almost anti-climactic. But on the other hand he never, ever wants to return to Afghan, he’s had his fill of that place as a soldier and as an operative and he’s relieved that they’ve been dealt with, regardless of who’d pulled the trigger.

“That’s…a relief I guess, can’t ‘urt anyone else, although for every ten insurgents eliminated twenty more pop up to take their place.”

“True, but that is not your problem, child. You have another job now, to keep people safe on home soil, let the military worry about the Taliban, you’ve done your part, someone else can deal with it now.”

“Athos? Do you actually know that I still have a job? Have either Porthos or Sylvie said?” he asks worriedly.

“Of course you do! As long as you are clean for a set period of time and attend your therapy sessions with Rory SO25 is waiting for you to return and take command of your Unit. Ryder is going mad, by the way, Porthos has assigned Jane to him for training in your absence and the two of them will either kill each other or end up shagging in the break room, apparently they’re placing bets back at Counter-terrorism HQ, the pot has gotten so big Beetle joked it should be handled by Ladbrokes.”

That forces a chuckle from d’Artagnan who also feels a sharp pang of loss. He misses his work mates and the comfort of a routine and the weight of his gun on his shoulder and his boots on his feet. “Athos, they don’t know right? Porthos told me they didn’t the first time round, but what about now?”

“Relax child, they think you were injured on a covert mission, end of story. Porthos has explained that they can’t see you due to the fact that the mission was highly classified and you’re still in the debrief process but they ask about you every day, Ryder and the lads and Tei and Danny text multiple times a day, our inboxes are always full, everyone misses you. Use that as an incentive to get better.”

“At the moment I’m not feeling all that confident that will ever happen brother.”

Athos hesitates a moment, his expression shuttered and his hands fiddle with the security tag around his neck. 

“You know that it’s hard for me to get close to people…” Athos begins and then he stops and takes a breath before he continues. “You know everything about me, by the way, even more than the others do and you know it’s difficult for me to let my guard down, to let people in,” Athos explains slowly, and then he finally turns to face him. “But I let you in because…well, mostly because you’re an annoying brat who insisted that we bond…despite the fact that you were a very naughty child back then…”

D’Artagnan feels a tiny spark of warmth inside of him that manages to push one side of his mouth up into a crooked grin. “But you loved me,” he teases.

Athos nods. “Yes, I did and I do, and you know I’ve been somewhere close to where you are now, right?”

D’Artagnan stiffens slightly. “Mnnn.”

“Right?” Athos insists, his gaze intense.

“Right, yes I know!”

“So you know I don’t blame you or judge you or anything even close to that. You will beat this, I know you will, and you know damned well that I’ll be by your side every step of the way,” Athos assures him vehemently. “But you have to try, I can’t do it for you, child, no matter how much I would like to. If it was in my power to switch places with you I’d do it in a heartbeat,” he says with sincerity. “You’re young and you have so much to offer I’d happily take this fight from you if I could, but I _can’t_ so the next best thing I can offer is to be by your side.” 

D’Artagnan is floored by the depth of Athos’ dedication to him. He feels unworthy of it and he wonders if this is how Athos had felt, after explosion at the Agency building had injured them both and he’d insisted repeatedly that his life hadn’t been worth saving. “I don’t deserve…”  
“Shut up, child, you actually deserve a fucking medal for what you’ve been through,” the older man assures him firmly.

For one fleeting, hopeful moment d’Artagnan _almost_ believes him.

 

**_Before_**

On the _first_ day of his _second_ round of detox, d’Artagnan thinks he may have tried to kill himself.

He thinks this because he’s simply not sure although it seems doubtful to him. After the humiliating intervention at his flat he’d sullenly allowed his brothers take him back to the military hospital for a second round of detox. They hadn’t bothered to mention that he’d be on lock-down and couldn’t leave without being signed out by an entire team of doctors, but he’d figured that out the second he’d heard the snick of the electronic mechanism locking when the door of his room closed. 

He’d been admitted and deposited safely in his secure room while Athos, Porthos and Aramis were busy making arrangements, phone calls and filling out forms when a nurse came in with a tray of meds and was almost immediately called away for an emergency, leaving the four little cups - three of which were not for him – on his nightstand when she ran out the door.  


He knew that at least two of the pills were Ambien and he also recognised the Xanax, not because he’d ever taken them but because he’d been trained to know the popular prescription meds that were bought and sold like street drugs. He has no idea what possessed him to swallow all the pills in the little cups because in all honesty he had no intention of leaving his child fatherless, but he wasn’t thinking straight, was he, and so without further thought he’d shoved all of them in his mouth followed by two cups of water and then he’d gone to sit in the chair by the window. 

Earlier, when they’d first arrived and he was alone on his room he’d sent his brothers a message, just a simple ‘I’m sorry’ because he hadn’t actually been able to say the words but he was so fucking ashamed of what he’d become. It hits him as he’s sitting there, looking out at the grey sky and getting drowsier by the second that they might think that was some kind of suicide note. After what he’d said back at his flat, asking them to leave him his Glock and go, he’s pretty sure that’s what they’ll think, but he’s not really suicidal, right? He wants to rectify that in some way but he can’t; he feels almost boneless and very sleepy and _fuck_ …so very good that he quickly forgets to worry about it. He just wants peace, and some relief from the shame and the longing, nothing more. 

He must have fallen off the chair at some point because he opens his eyes and blinks and he’s being lifted off the floor by Porthos who then carries him out of the room, screaming for help. He’d probably seen the empty little cups and put two and two together because he’s telling someone ‘he’s overdosed on something’. He’s still holding him in his arms when Athos and Aramis appear and d’Artagnan sees them through bleary eyes, looking so damned scared it makes his heart stutter and he tries to reach out a hand to them but he can’t, the pull of unconsciousness and sweet oblivion is simply too much.

He wakes, hours, days (he doesn’t know) later, in another room, maybe the ICU he thinks, with a very harried looking Porthos sitting beside him.

“I can’t believe you did that,” Porthos says flatly. “How could you?”

“I was tired…just wanted to sleep,” d’Artagnan slurs, meaning it.

“Forever?” Porthos hisses.

“No! Just for a bit…so bloody tired,” he insists. He can barely lift his hand but he tries and he reaches for Porthos who doesn’t respond, doesn’t take his hand in his. 

“Brother, please…” d’Artagnan says hoarsely, not sure what he’s asking for; forgiveness, comfort, support...all of the above?

“I’ve put up with so much shit from you because I love you, but this…this is bad. It’s one thing to die honourably in the line of duty but to kill yourself you selfish fuckin’ _twat_?”

“Porthos stop!” 

_Aramis_ …and the relief d’Artagnan feels is so overwhelming tears begin to leak from the corners of his eyes.

“Don’t cry, lad, you’re fine, everything’s going to be alright, I promise,” Aramis soothes and he places a kiss on his forehead and takes his hand in his. This only makes the tears flow harder and faster; the fact that Aramis hasn’t lost faith in him is both very comforting and extremely painful. 

“Athos?” he breathes.

“He’s speaking to your doctors, don’t worry, he’s not angry, apparently a nurse made an awful mistake, it wasn’t your fault…”

“For fuck’s safe, Aramis, ‘e didn’t have to take them just because they were there!” Porthos snarls.

“Brother, please,” Aramis implores and he whispers something to Porthos and they continue their conversation is hushed tones but d’Artagnan doesn’t care to listen and he drifts off. When he wakes again, he blinks at the sunlight coming in from the open blinds and he sees he’s back in his secure room, Porthos once again beside him. 

“I’m sorry I ‘ad a go at you, I was wrong and I hope you can forgive me.”

D’Artagnan is shocked and embarrassed by the other man’s carefully uttered words and he nods slowly. “Aramis told you to say that didn’t ‘e?” he replies, his voice scratchy and hoarse.

Porthos nods. “Yes, he did, but only because it’s the truth. We’re supposed to be patient and apparently I ‘avent been since you’ve been back and for that I’m truly sorry.”

“Please, brother, don’t, you’ve done nothing wrong, you rescued me for fuck’s sake, got me home safe, the rest is on me,” d’Artagnan says tonelessly.

“I gotta know though, and please, do not lie to me. Did you try to take your own life or were you just looking for a fix?”

D’Artagnan turns to meet his gaze and gives him the most honest answer his muddled brain he can come up with. 

“I don’t know.”

 

**_Now - Day 9_**

 

“So, agent, have you thought about what we discussed yesterday, when your friends were here?”

“Please stop calling me ‘agent’, I’m no longer in that line of work, I’m employed by another government agency now, ‘ave been for a while, and unless you want to call me ‘commander’ I suggest you just stick with my code name.”

Rory smiles. “Alright, d’Artagnan, although to be honest this might seem more real to you if I used your given name.”

“I couldn’t tell you that back when we first met Doc, and still can’t tell you now…you know the drill, I’d ‘ave to kill you ‘n all that.”

“I’m glad to see you still have a sense of humour, lad, that’s good. Right then, yesterday we spoke with your friends about expectations and fear of failing, and the three of them were quite vehement in their defence of you; apparently you don’t fail often and are very dedicated to your job. Now these of course are good qualities, unless you put undue pressure on yourself to always be perfect in every situation, no matter how challenging.” 

D’Artagnan gets to his feet and scratches absently as the track marks on his left arm. “It’s my job, I took an oath to serve and protect, I can’t have good days and bad days, I’ve got to be in top form at all times.”

“So when you returned from Kabul and went through the detox program I’m thinking that you left here feeling like you’d failed in some way. Is that why you went looking to score?”

“You’ve asked me this a dozen times…”

Rory nods and looks down at the file on his desk. “And you haven’t yet given me straight answer. You said you were afraid your partner would forever see you in a different light, that your friends would no longer trust you and that your job was at stake but none of these things were true. Your friends, one of whom is also your superior, assured me that your job was secure and that everyone in your life was willing to stand by you. What made you think you couldn’t speak to them about your fears…or even to me? You knew you could contact me at any time, I’m a government approved therapist, at your beck and call, and I’d like to think we’d become friends as well,” he adds gently.

“I don’t know,” d’Artagnan replies miserably. “But you’re right about the failure part; I’m good at what I do, I’ve saved countless lives and been part of a team that has neutralised more national security threats than you’d ever want to know about. And then I went to Kabul on a mission that should have been simple and I somehow managed to fuck it up royally. So yes, I guess I was upset that I’d failed, and pretty fuckin’ devastated that I’d become a junkie because of that failure!”

Rory nods. “I was given a redacted copy of the mission report and frankly, lad, you did nothing wrong. If anything, SAS failed to properly vet the situation before requesting an operative be sent undercover, it was their job to know if their ANA contact could be manipulated or compromised, not yours.”

D’Artagnan flops back into his chair and considers. “Maybe…I don’t know. But I should have been more aware of what was going on around me, the ANA Captain had been fucking nervous from day one, I thought something was off but I was told to go ahead and try and make the deal anyway. I could have refused.”

“D’Artagnan, how many soldiers do you know who would refuse a direct order? You spent two years in the military, correct? You did what you were told by your superior officers, full stop. From both a professional standpoint and as an ex-squaddie myself I can guarantee you that none of what happened was your fault. If you fell back into using based partly on the assumption that you’d failed, we’re now striking that one off the list because you didn’t.”

D’Artagnan baulks. “That easily?”

“No, of course not, nothing is that easy, but if we’re to get to the bottom of what went wrong after you went home we need to pick it all apart, piece by piece and we’ve now taken the first step.”

D’Artagnan runs both hands through his hair and blows out long breath. “When we first met, you said I was reckless and cavalier, a danger to myself and possibly others. I know you eventually sent me back to work with the all-clear but is there any chance you feel like that could be true again?”

Rory frowns. “Absolutely not. Your boss…Porthos right? He provided me with your employment and medical records for the past few years, heavily redacted of course, but there was enough for me to get a clear picture of how you evolved after the shooting incident at the farmhouse. I um, I will also admit to having spoken with your mate, the one they call Athos, the day you were readmitted and overdosed. When he rang me and asked if I could take over your counselling he and I met up and picked through everything since your move to Counter-terrorism, practically one mission at a time. Based on that, and what your friends told me yesterday in our group session, I am sure that you are no longer the same man you once were…nor are you suicidal. I’m mostly sure that you took those meds because you were in uncontrolled withdrawal and not because you wanted to end your life.”

“You hadn’t asked me that question once this week, I was wondering…”

“Everything has its moment, d’Artagnan, and since you brought it up, do you want to talk about it today? We don’t have to mind you, we still have so much ground to cover before we even get to that.”

D’Artagnan goes rigid. “And I’ll have to stay here for that? Can’t I go home once I’m completely clean and we can meet in your office?”

Rory gives him a sad smile. “Lad, they did that a few weeks ago and look what happened. For the record, I’m so damn sorry that I wasn’t here for you, I’m assuming your doctors thought you’d be better off with an addiction specialist but they were wrong, they didn’t know enough about you to make that choice and if I’d known I would have come on my own.”

“But I won’t get better locked up in ‘ere, I’ll go mad!” d’Artagnan protests loudly. “I’ll go completely mental…and lose what’s left of my mind!”

Rory looks sceptical and he writes something down. “Which of your friends live alone and have no children?”

“Aramis and Athos, Porthos is married with a child, why?”

“I might be willing to let you go home with either Aramis or Athos providing you are under their strict supervision and you follow my instructions to the letter. And of course you will continue to attend counselling with me. One misstep though, lad, and you’ll be right back in here, probably for a much longer period of treatment,” he warns.

“But what about my son? Supposedly he’ll be coming home soon, and I’d really like to see him regularly.”

Rory nods. “You’ll be able to see him, don’t worry, but I noticed that you haven’t mentioned your partner, Constance, don’t you want to see her as well?”

“Constance left me…again, like she did after I was shot and nearly died, so I’m not sure how I feel about seeing her right now.”

“Alright, that’s obviously what we should discuss tomorrow then, especially if she’s returning to London soon. In the meanwhile, see if one of your mates is willing to take you on for a few weeks, and if you manage to stop fighting with the nurses and your physical condition continues to improve I’ll speak to your doctors, agreed?”

D’Artagnan feels so hopeful he thinks he might weep. “Yes, I will and I promise to behave…even though most of the nurses are complete wankers and should be shovelling horse shit and not dealing with sick people…anything to get out of here and spend some time with my boy.”

Rory is a decent bloke and apparently he agrees with d’Artagnan’s description of some of the staff because he chuckles. “Agreed then. Tomorrow we’ll focus on Constance so if you want to talk about anything in particular, write it down so you don’t forget, yeah?”

He nods but says nothing as he wonders to himself; _‘Write it down? Where the fuck do I even start?’_

 

**_Before_**

He’s lying in bed in just his boxers even though he’s fucking cold. There are moments though where he simply can’t stand the feel of fabric against his skin; even though he knows it’s not real he thinks that his arms will itch and his thighs will chafe despite the fact that he has no more scabs. He’s been home for a week and he’s clean of course, supposedly cured of his addiction during his three week stay in the hospital but the track marks are a constant reminder of his…ordeal as the doctors liked to call it.

Constance comes into the darkened room quietly. She’d gone to check on Theo, they’d only just moved him into the nursery a few days before d’Artagnan had left for Kabul but he’d adjusted easily. He is such a good baby, happy, smart, and a joy to be with. When d’Artagnan had first arrived back in the UK Constance had no choice but to take Theo to his mother for the first week. His mum had been overjoyed of course but also worried about her son’s sudden bout of ‘pneumonia’. Constance had managed to keep both his parents away from the hospital with the excuse that they could take the bug back home to Theo and they’d reluctantly agreed to leave d’Artagnan in her care.

Constance strips off her track suit and underwear and leaves them in a pile on the floor and goes into the en-suite, presumably for a shower. Things are awkward between them, she is constantly worrying about his health and his state of mind and it’s causing tension. In the hospital she’d been brilliant though, spending the entire first week by his side, nearly 24/7, refusing to leave even when one of their brothers was there. By the second week the withdrawal symptoms had lessened considerably and his doctors began to focus on his physical condition as well as his emotional well being. He’d attended physiotherapy to get his strength back and had daily sessions with an addiction expert. By the third week Constance had to get back to work and with d’Artagnan improving more and more by the day she’d been able to take Theo back home. With some help from Ellie she’d been able to juggle taking the baby to daycare, picking him up and spending time at the hospital with d’Artagnan as well. He’d been so grateful for her presence and in awe of her ability to manage everything and stay sane, and a day hadn’t passed that she didn’t visit him twice, regardless of how tired she was.

When she’d brought him home though, things changed. D’Artagnan now actually spends every moment he can avoiding her because she seems anxious and worried around him it’s making him feel anxious. Does she no longer trust him? Is she worried that he’s unstable? Is she afraid of him? He doesn’t know because he hasn’t had the balls to come right out and ask her. 

The door opens and a puff of steam fills the darkened room. Constance puts a long sleeved satin nightie over her head, adjusts the volume on the baby monitor and then climbs onto the bed, remaining, oddly, on her knees. She says nothing but she gives him a shy smile and bends over to press a tentative kiss to his mouth. Before he can even respond to the kiss she moves her lips over his beard, onto his neck, licking a stripe around his ear and he gasps when she nips at his earlobe before running her tongue down the fading surgical scar on his sternum, across the newer, raised one on his abdomen and then back up to circle one pebbled nipple.

D’Artagnan thinks he’s died and gone to heaven because they haven’t had slow, sensual sex in months, mostly because of Theo as well as his injuries after the explosion. Sex is still amazing between them, better than good because he loves Constance’s new curves, but it’s hurried and sometimes frantic and always with one ear on the baby monitor. Constance bites lightly on his overly-sensitive nipple and then does the same to the other, taking her time to give him pleasure and it’s so good he wants to scream; but that will wake the baby and the neighbours so he settles for soft gasping moans and when he can’t keep his hands off her anymore he pulls her to straddle his hips and rubs his fully erect cock against her bare bottom.

“Slower,” she says, breathless, but she moves ever so slightly, causing them both to groan in pleasure. She slides down and leans over his boxer-clad groin and presses tiny kisses through the fabric on the length of his painfully hard cock.

“It’s been a while,” he reminds her, “you’ll make me come.”

“If I do I’ll make you come again,” she tells him, voice low and husky and she pulls down his boxers and tosses them aside. Her hands begin to tease him, her fingers running lightly around his groin without touching his leaking cock and then she leans over lower, caressing and pressing kisses to the inside of his thigh and suddenly, d’Artagnan freezes. 

“Uh, don’t…don’t touch me there, baby, please,” he says hoarsely and she startles but then he knows she gets it, the healing track marks, and she moves her hand higher to his hip, and her kisses don’t stray lower again. D’Artagnan feels like he’s fucked everything up but Constance doesn’t stop, and just when he think his dick is going to wilt she licks a stripe down the underside, from the swollen head to his sac and he cries out…loudly.

“Please, baby, I can’t…” he says, lifting himself up. He pulls her nightshirt off and takes one very hard nipple in his mouth and he gasps when he remembers that she’s still breastfeeding.  
Constance giggles and he gets bold so he sucks on the other as well, very lightly of course but he still gets a mouthful of breast milk so he switches to using his fingers. Constance leans in and kisses him deeply and he thinks it’s both hot and very kinky at the same time. But when she moves to settle herself on his cock, he pulls away from the kiss and grabs her wrist.

“We need a condom,” he reminds her shakily, and once again he thinks there’s no way this will ever happen tonight. 

“I forgot,” she says simply, seemingly unbothered. They’d never had this issue before because Constance was normally on birth control but his doctors had insisted, no sex without a condom for six months while he’s tested regularly for HIV. Christ, what a fucking mess his life has become.

Constance though is not to be deterred. She slides off the bed and opens the top drawer of her night table and throws the box of Durex at him. “Put it on, mate, we don’t have all night, your son’s appetite waits for no man.”

Heartened by her attitude he pulls on his dick once, twice, swipes his thumb roughly over the swollen head and then he rolls the condom on and she quickly gets back on the bed and slowly, oh so slowly, takes him inside her, little by little to tease him but he can’t wait so he bucks up and she gasps, then moans and sinks all way onto his cock and slowly begins to move with a rhythm she knows will work for both of them.

It feels so good, so fucking good he literally thinks he may pass out. He puts one hand on her hip and slides the other between them to touch her clit, moving his fingers slowly to pleasure her before he spills like a 16 year old virgin and ruins everything. Fortunately Constance is also pretty wound up and she comes almost immediately, crying out his name and grinding down hard on his hand and he tries to hold back because he knows he can make her come again but when she stops shuddering she pulls his hand away and rides him harder, knowing exactly what he likes and seconds later he comes too. 

His orgasm rips through him like a tidal wave and he’s moaning and muttering and probably embarrassing himself but he doesn’t care, it’s so fucking amazing and he can’t remember the last time they had such good sex, despite the little hiccups and the need for protection. He’s still gasping for breath when Constance pulls off gently, mindful not to disturb the full condom and she falls beside him on the bed and snuggles up next to him. They lay like that for a few moments, both shivering a bit from the cold, but neither is ready to move yet.

“I love you,” he whispers hoarsely. “I don’t deserve you, not with all the baggage I’ve brought home with me.”

“Please don’t, it’s ok, we’ll be ok,” she assures him, but he sees her bite her lip even in the darkness of their room and he knows that she too is afraid.

Very, very afraid.

 

**_Now - Day 11_ ******

In his most insane nightmares d’Artagnan had never imagined he’d get jumped in the men’s toilet of a secure military hospital.

And yet, after physiotherapy, he goes into the toilet to take a piss and put some water on his sweaty face and when he turns to throw the used paper towel into the bin someone grabs him from behind and slams his head into the tiled wall, leaving a bloody streak on the dull white porcelain. It’s funny what you notice when your head’s been smashed in and you’re struggling to remain upright; d’Artagnan blinks and sees his blood oozing slowly down the tile in a wiggly line like a garden worm and before he can recover from the hit he takes a punch to the right kidney which leaves him doubled over in agony. 

He barely manages to dodge another blow to the head, this time from what look like some kind of baton but it gets him on the shoulder instead and d’Artagnan thinks he feels something move. 

_‘Fight back, fight back you idiot’_ and it’s Porthos’ voice he hears in his brain, a memory maybe or just his mind playing tricks on him but it pumps him up enough to take a swing. The punch lands on Dave’s jaw – fuckin’ ‘ell, it’s bloody fucking _Dave!_ – and seeing the cowardly bastard makes d’Artagnan angry enough to literally throw all his weight onto the (obviously bonkers) nurse and they both fall to the floor, d’Artagnan, unfortunately, landing under the much heavier Dave. 

Dave gets to his knees and straddles him and lands blow after blow, pummeling at d’Artagnan’s face and torso and he manages to block some of them but not all of them. If he doesn’t do something quick he’ll have survived the fucking Taliban, numerous explosions and a half a dozen gunshot wounds only to be beaten to death on the filthy floor of the men’s room by a psycho nurse with an inferiority complex. D’Artagnan unfurls his uninjured arm and he bucks his body upwards and with the use of only legs and his right hand he somehow manages to push him off him. Once he has the advantage he lands two good punches to Dave’s neck and the second, thank fuck, renders the bigger man unconscious. Dave flops like a rag doll to the side and d’Artagnan somehow manages to kick the bastard from off him and he drags himself to the door 

Breathing hard, blood running into his good eye - the other is swollen shut – he realises that something is definitely wrong with his left shoulder. He can’t reach the door handle from where he is, half-sitting, half-lying against the wall and he knows he’ll need to get to his knees at the very least. 

Inch by inch d’Artagnan pulls himself up until he’s completely sitting. He reaches up with his right hand and realises that if he lifts himself just a tiny bit more he will be able to reach the handle from where he is. Using all his strength, which isn’t much at this moment, he stretches his hand up and somehow gets a hold of the cool metal. He pulls down on it and he hears the snick of the door releasing and he inches it open, sticking his knee in the opening to keep it from closing. At this point all he can do is kind of crawl out through the space and he does so, painstakingly slow, using his good right hand and his legs to keep the heavy door open as he shimmies out of the toilet. 

His appearance in the corridor incites chaos. Someone screams and then someone else drops something, the sound of glass shattering exaggeratingly loud to his hypersensitive ears. He’s quickly surrounded by numerous staff members, doctors, nurses and security. He can’t explain what happened but one of the security guards opens the door and rushes into the bathroom. When he re-emerges he’s growling about ‘that fucking wanker Dave’ and two gurneys appear, one for him and one for the wanker, and d’Artagnan momentarily loses his fight to stay aware. 

His eyes open in what he assumes is the casualty ward because there are a lot of people and a lot of noise and all he wants to do is go back up to his room and sleep. But he’s being poked and prodded, and a drip line slides into the back of his hand and he stiffens and tries to get someone’s attention 

“No…pain relief,” he slurs, and the nurse gives him a sympathetic smile and promises him that it’s just fluids and antibiotics. 

“You’ve got to check…my chart,” he insists, the idea of even the slightest setback to his recovery too fucking horrible to even imagine. He indicates his plastic bracelet that has his ID information and the young nurse assures him that everything will be checked and double checked before he’s given anything aside from what she’s already hooked him up to. 

“We’ve got a serious head injury that needs a CT, a possible dislocated shoulder, and multiple cuts and bruises, some of them might need a plastic surgeon,” a male voice is saying. “Jesus fuck, what they hell is wrong with that bastard? He could’ve killed this man!” 

D’Artagnan once again loses his fight with consciousness only to be rudely awoken by the sound of the CT machine and the freezing cold air in the room that houses it. He shivers but a toneless voice warns him through a speaker to stay still since he’s actually inside the narrow tunnel and if he moves they’ll need to start again. He closes his eyes and does what he’s told and he next wakes in his room, his hand still attached to the drip and a heart monitor beeping steadily beside him. He barely feels any pain and that sends a spike of fear through him. 

Porthos is sleeping - in a new and much more comfortable looking chair than had been there earlier - beside his bed and although he feels like a twat waking him he needs to be sure that he hasn’t been given anything that isn’t allowed. 

“Porthos?” he croaks, and it hurts to move his lips, he can just imagine what his face looks like. 

Porthos jumps awake and his expression morphs from confusion to concern and the big man gets to his feet at once. “Jesus Christ lad, we can’t leave you alone for a minute, can we,” he grouses but his eyes go damp and his expression is tense. 

“Porthos, I’m not feeling a lot of pain, what did they give me?” he asks, panicked. 

“Anti-inflammatories, light analgesics only lad, I promise, none of the hard stuff. I’m gonna kill that fucking wanker that did this, you know that right? I’m gonna rip ‘is fucking balls off, leave him a God-damned eunuch! Bloody fuckin’ hell, we were so close to getting you outta here!” 

“No, brother… please,” d’Artagnan slurs. “I gave as good as I got…made you proud.” 

Porthos stares at him, looking somewhat shocked but then his expression softens and his mouth turns up into a crooked grin. “I’m always proud of you, lad.” 

“You were in my head…telling me to fight back,” d’Artagnan insists, he needs Porthos to know. 

“Wanker could ‘ave killed me…but I didn’t let ‘im, couldn’t let you down again.” 

“You’ve never let me down, little brother, never,” Porthos tells him vehemently. 

D’Artagnan is too tired to continue so he shuts his eyes. One day he’ll tell Porthos everything, about how he’d become a whore to the ecstasy that came with every hit, how he’d let the most vile human beings on the planet pull down his trousers to inject his thighs when they’d needed new veins, how he’d betrayed their brotherhood every time he’d offered up his arms willingly. 

But not today. Today he’ll let Porthos be proud of him, today he’ll be his decent, upstanding, respectable little brother…just for a little while longer. 

******_Now – Day 14_** ** **

****

“You have a visitor, lad, a young lady, but she can’t come up because she doesn’t have clearance for this ward.” 

D’Artagnan is sitting in the chair by the window and he turns to see one of the nurses, Lila, a middle-aged woman from Nigeria who has been so kind to him it sometimes makes him feel ashamed and embarrassed. But she’d lost her son, a paratrooper, somewhere in the desert and she was one of those people who understood them – _them_ being the squaddies on this ward for various combat-related issues that aren’t only physical – and she treats everyone with the utmost kindness and respect. 

“I uh, I’m not sure who it could be, did she give her name?” Everyone that would visit him is a government employee or a medical professional and they all had clearance for his ward. 

“No luv, sorry, security didn’t say, she’s in the solarium, waiting, would you like me to take you?” she asks him gently. 

D’Artagnan has to think about it. His face is a mess of bruises and he’s got two cuts stitched up by the plastic surgeon and his arm is in a sling, what if it’s someone he knows through his family or from the café, fuck, then his mum would find out. But how would they even know that he was in here? Athos had been adamant that no one knows where he is. 

“You need some sun and a change of scenery, I’ll get a chair and take you.” 

D’Artagnan groans. “A chair, Lila?” 

“It’s either me and a chair or one of those uptight security blokes accompanies you, I’m sorry, you know…” 

Yes, he knows, he might make a run for it. In wheelchair though the nurses use a small Velcro strap under his trouser leg that secures one ankle to the metal frame, making it difficult for him to run out the door without someone noticing and being able to stop him first. 

“No, whoever it is, tell ‘er I can’t come down,” he decides. Too much humiliation, too much shame. 

Lila sighs. “I won’t use the strap, you’re a good boy and I know you won’t get me into trouble,” she informs him and she goes back out of the room to get the wheelchair. 

She comes back and then she takes a brush and tries to do something with his hair and surprisingly, he allows it. She checks over his clothes – track suit bottoms and a long-sleeved jersey – making sure he’s clean and tidy and she grabs a hoody jacket from his closet just in case he gets cold. He wouldn’t even let his own mother do all of that but Lila doesn’t deserve his sullen anger so he says nothing. 

It takes them a full ten minutes to get down to the ground floor, slow lifts, busy corridors and when they reach the solarium he gets a glimpse of blond hair through the glass doors and tears prick his eyes; Ellie. 

…and…oh God, Constance and Theo. 

“Lila, take me back,” he hisses, and he drops his head slightly so his hair partially covers his bruised face. 

“Why, luv, what’s wrong, are you feeling ill?” she asks worriedly and come around from behind the chair to see what’s happening. 

“Please, that’s my son, I can’t see him like this,” he whispers, devastated. He now knows why Constance couldn’t come up; Ellie doesn’t have security clearance and Theo is not allowed inside the building. What a fucking mess. 

“OK darlin’, I’ll take you back,” she tells him softly but it’s too late, Constance has seen them. Their eyes meet for one, terrible, brief moment but he sees everything he needs to see in her gaze; shock, horror, pity maybe? 

“Luv, what do you want to do?” Lila asks him quietly. “My first priority is your well-being, son, not theirs.” 

But the choice is taken from him when Ellie hurries and opens the door for them. She has a huge smile plastered on her face but d’Artagnan has known her forever so he’s fully aware that she’s probably cringing inwardly 

“Oi, I've missed your ugly mug,” she tells him cheerfully and after she wheels him in Lila goes to sit on one of the benches a few feet away to give them some privacy. 

“I’ve missed you too, Ellie, how’s my girl? Seems like I haven’t seen her in months.” 

“Growing like a weed, lecturing us on the environment, winning awards at school, making us proud. And she’s been looking for you, I told her you’re away for work so as soon as you’re…feeling better,” Ellie says, stumbling over those last words. “As soon as you’re home I’ll bring her round, she misses you.” 

“Yeah, I miss her too,” d’Artagnan replies honestly. Ellie grabs the chair and pushes him further into the glass-enclosed garden and stops directly in front of Constance. She’s sitting on the bench, a sleeping Theo in the stroller in front of her. D’Artagnan nods and then drops his gaze to his son, who looks like he’s grown a few inches even though it’s only been fourteen days. He’s close enough to touch him and he reaches out with a shaky hand and takes his chubby little fist in his palm and then closes his fingers very gently around it. He refuses to cry, not in front of Constance, no bloody way. 

“Um, Porthos told me what ‘appened, I hope the police have charged that bastard?” Constance asks tentatively. 

“I…well, I don’t even know, you’d have to ask Porthos I guess,” he replies evenly. “Has he been sleeping long?” d’Artagnan asks. He desperately wants him to wake up but on the other hand his bruised face will definitely scare him; he knows his dad, he’s nearly a year old, he’s not an infant who doesn’t know any better. 

“I, uh, I don’t think he’ll be waking anytime soon, sorry,” Constance tells him apologetically. “Did they say when you can be released?” 

“Probably three or four days…then I’m gonna to stay with Athos.” There, he’s told her, ball is now in her court. 

“What? Why?” she asks, clearly shocked by the news. “Don’t you want to come home?” 

If he as a more vindictive person he’d tell her _‘no, I don’t want to, you left me, I’ve been alone and sick and fucking terrified and you left me to face it all on my own.’_ But he sticks with the facts because he doesn’t want to cause a scene in front of Ellie and Lila and the half-dozen or so others in the solarium. 

“Rory says I’ve got to stay with Athos or Aramis and you know Athos, he insisted I go home with him.” 

Constance is clearly upset as well as angry. “It’s just for a couple of weeks, until he’s sure I’m well enough to be with Theo full time,” d’Artagnan explains. “Louis is giving Athos time off and you’ve got work ‘n all that so you won’t have to bother taking me back and forth to my sessions while looking after Theo, it makes the most sense.” 

“Taking you to your appointments is not a bother, d’Artagnan,” she tells him dully but she doesn’t push it. 

“Plus my arm is useless for the foreseeable future, someone ‘as to help me…and Athos is doing so much better, you know, with his leg…he’s got a new physiotherapist…” He’s babbling and he knows it but he is so uncomfortable all he wants to do is go back to his room and shut everyone and everything out again. 

“It’s fine, luv, we understand,” Ellie says, jumping in and diffusing the situation before either of them says something they shouldn’t. He still has Theo’s hand in his and he doesn’t want to let go but he also knows that if he doesn’t leave one of them will surely lash out. He opens his palm and gently lets his son’s hand go. 

“I…listen..I’m sorry, I’ve got to go, I’ve got physiotherapy in a bit…” He looks over to Lila, and she gets it, she always does, and she comes over and takes the handles of the chair. 

“Is this your little boy?” she asks, smilingly brightly, “He’s got your colouring, lad, and your good looks.” 

“He’s got him mum’s gorgeous blue eyes,” d’Artagnan says softly, looking up at Constance. If he didn’t know better, he’d think she was going to cry. But she doesn’t of course, not Constance, and certainly not in front of an audience. 

Ellie places a kiss on the top of his head and then Constance also gets to her feet. “I can bring Theo to Athos’ whenever you want,” she informs him and she leans over and fusses with Theo’s blanket, something to do, he thinks, besides looking at him. 

“I’d like that, I miss him so much…” is what he says but he really wants to tell her ‘I fucking miss you too, just as much, maybe even more’ because it’s been the two of them, forever, he can barely remember what his life was like before her, but again, he keeps it to himself, he’s simply too drained to pick a fight. 

He doesn’t say goodbye, he murmurs to Lila that it’s time to go and she turns his chair towards the door. Constance jumps up and opens it for them but she says nothing as they leave and he’s grateful for that. 

When he’s back in his room alone, in his chair by the window, he lets one tear fall. Just one, because any more and he’ll fall apart, maybe trash his room or punch the wall, and then Rory won’t sign off for him to leave. 

And that would be the end of him for certain. 

****

****End of Part 1** **

Next up we hear from everyone else and find out more about what happened in Kabul from Aramis and Porthos, Athos puts his foot down and Constance is having a very bad day.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Massive thanks to Arduna who read this for content but I didn't give her a chance to check for typos so yeah, there will probably be a lot! Dedicated to Arduna and the readers who left comments and kudos on Part 1. This was a difficult story to write, the subject matter is delicate and painful and I'd like to thank those of you who gave it a chance, I truly appreciate your support:)

**_Part 2 - Men on the Chessboard_ **

 

**_ARAMIS_ **

 

When he’d left Aghan on his last tour with a hole in his leg the size of a two-pound coin he thought he’d never, ever have to return to that God-forsaken hellhole, not in this lifetime at least.

That is, of course, until they get word from SAS via Treville that d’Artagnan has gone missing. 

  
There is no debating the matter in any way, shape or form, Aramis is already speaking over the protesting Treville into his phone, requesting full kits and weapons for the three of them. Although Athos of course would not be able to actually take part in a rescue mission due to his leg there wasn’t a chance in hell that any of them were staying behind. This is d’Artagnan, their brother, their youngest brother, and he’d just become a father, he and Athos had just survived a building falling on them, and Aramis will be damned before he lets the Taliban have him, not without putting up the mother of all fights to try and get him back.

Besides, d’Artagnan would walk through hell for anyone one of them, the little fool has done so on more than one occasion so going to bring him home safe is a no-brainer and not up for discussion.

That is, if you’re actually fit to do so and Aramis, trying to remember where everything goes on his borrowed uniform, isn’t actually sure if he is. Porthos is in better shape, he regularly kits up and goes on missions with his Units so he’s probably more prepared for this but Porthos has never seen real combat. Shoot-outs with the Russian Mafia, crazies with automatic weapons threatening civilians, attacks by small groups of mercenaries yes, but there’s something about live combat in a war zone, where anything goes and there are so many unknown factors that would scare the shit out of even the most seasoned soldiers and Aramis admits he’s worried.

Not that he’d share his feelings with anyone of course.

They get lucky though, very, very lucky and find d’Artagnan easily, because it appears as if his captors hadn’t thought to check him bodily for a tracker. It’s embedded under the skin of his belly, put there by injection and leaving just a tiny pinprick of a scar, so unless those Taliban tossers had knowledge of the British army’s newest, highly classified technology they wouldn’t have considered that he’d been micro-chipped like the average family pet and was now a walking tracking device.

For the first three days after his reported disappearance there’s no signal from the tracker but then Athos is informed that the problem isn’t with d’Artagnan but with the satellite and as soon as they locate him and confirm proof-of-life by a drone programmed to pick up a living body connected to that tiny piece of hardware, SAS informs Treville that the rescue is on.

  
It takes two more days to get a team in place and to add Aramis and Porthos to the mix, and Athos is in charge of comms.

On the day they’re supposed to launch the assault the ANA base that is hosting them comes under heavy attack from local insurgents, leaving them basically trapped and helpless inside a secure bunker. By the time the rubble is cleared and their helicopters are given the ok to fly nine days have passed. Aramis can no longer be sure the lad is still alive, but the mission is on; thank fuck no one had decided to just call it off and abandon him to his fate. They would have gone in anyway, him and Porthos alone if need be, and he’s very glad it hadn’t come to that.

The rescue itself goes off without a hitch and Porthos, despite his combat inexperience, does his part better than some of the SAS blokes and within minutes they find d’Artagnan. 

But in a state that Aramis couldn’t have ever imagined even in his worst nightmares. Porthos goes mad; after they med-evac d’Artagnan back to the ANA base he and Athos have to practically sit on Porthos who seems determined to go back and blow the fuck out of the Taliban’s stronghold on his own.

Their priority though is to get d’Artagnan home and Porthos eventually calms down and they three of them take their brother back home via military transport to be treated for heroin addiction and a laundry list of other health issues, courtesy of his Taliban captors.

In all honesty no one had expected d’Artagnan’s recovery to go so well. Just as no one had expected him to go looking for a fix barely a week later.

Fast forward nine weeks or so and now, after another eighteen days in rehab and one possible suicide attempt - d’Artagnan hasn’t copped to it so no one really knows - Aramis is sitting in the La-Z-Boy in Athos’ guest room, watching their wayward little brother sleep, while listening to Spotify softly on his phone and trying to get his head around everything that has happened in the past two months.

To someone who doesn’t know him d’Artagnan looks like he’s been in an accident of some sort recently, fading bruises on his face, two stitched-up cuts, and his arm is mostly in a sling, all courtesy of the lovely Dave, who thankfully is now being held for assault. To those who know and love him though he looks dreadful, thin and battered and very, very sad. It physically hurts to see him like this; Aramis had, at some point, come to terms with the fact that he was _overly_ fond of both d’Artagnan and Constance, each for different reasons but both in a way that he hadn’t quite experienced with anyone else in his life. He’d struggled with it for a while, his attraction to Constance years before as well as the inexplicable need to sometimes just be physically close to d’Artagnan, but he’s now accepted the fact that he loves them both very dearly and wants them to be happy and whole and safe. Athos and Porthos both fill another need in Aramis’ life for meaningful friendship and stability but their two youngest would always have a special place in his heart.

“I’m not gonna do a runner if that’s what you’re thinkin’.”

“Bloody hell, you scared the shit out of me,” Aramis complains. “How long have you been awake?”

“Long enough to know you’re sitting there worrying about what I’ll do next,” d’Artagnan says, yawning, and he drags himself up until he’s sitting back against the headboard. “What time is it anyway?”

“Half-nine, you’ve been asleep since we got home from the hospital and Athos insisted we leave you to rest, said you looked like you needed it.”

“And where’s Athos?”

“Popped out to the shops, to get food for his empty fridge and a take-away. How’re you feeling, lad?”

“Like I got my arse handed to me a just a few days ago by a lunatic. Also, I’m not craving a hit, just in case you were gonna ask.”

Aramis sighs loudly. “You’re in rare form tonight, can I assume you actually are feeling better?”

“No, I feel like a 31 year old toddler who has two full-time baby-sitters on hand just in case he needs his nappy changed or his bottle warmed. Next question,” he snarks and his expression is somewhere between petulant and sullen, and Aramis thinks _‘no, not a baby but certainly behaving like naughty teenager on lock down’._

“There is a beautiful and intelligent woman waiting back at my flat for me to come home but I’ve chosen to be here with you, any chance you can behave yourself for just five minutes?”

D’Artagnan sighs and rubs at his face with both hands. “I’m sorry, I’m a wanker, a fucked-up arsehole, and I feel like shit that you’re sitting here watching me sleep instead of at home with your girl.”

“D’Artagnan I don’t mind being here with you, what I mind is that you don’t understand exactly why I’m here; it’s not to hold your dick for you while you take a piss, it’s to make sure you stay safe and well so that you can go home to your little boy.”

D’Artagnan nods slowly. “Constance came to see me a few days ago.”

Aramis startles. “And you didn’t bother to tell me? What happened? What did she say?”

“Not much, and I mean that literally. She came with Ellie and Theo, we barely said five words to each other and then I decided that I couldn’t sit there and look at them anymore knowing that things will probably never be the same so I took the coward’s way out and told her I had physio.”

“You know none of that’s not true,” Aramis scolds. “She is literally dying inside without you, trust me lad, I know her.”

“Not helping, brother,” d’Artagnan practically snarls.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“What I mean is that it hurts sometimes that she tells you more than she tells me. And she’s afraid of me, Aramis, no matter how loud she tries to deny it, it’s the honest truth.”

Aramis get to his feet and goes to sit on the bed. “That’s very possible but it doesn’t mean she doesn’t love you. You’ve got to re-earn her trust, make her see that you’re strong enough to beat what was done to you.”

“You lot keep telling me it wasn’t my fault, that something was _done_ to me against my will…”

“It was!” Aramis hisses, cutting him off. “You were a hostage, a POW, and what happened while you were in the Taliban compound is not on you, Jesus fuck, one step forward, two back again?”

“No damn it, you didn’t even let me finish,” d’Artagnan protest, kicking off the duvet and pulling his knees up to his chest. “It was originally done to me against my will but then I happily fell back down the rabbit hole, drank from the bottle and ate the fuckin' cake!”

Aramis grimaces. “Alice in Wonderland? I thought I was the one with a flair for dramatic metaphors.”

“Someone bought it for Theo,” d’Artagnan replies, sounding very defeated. “Look, I know you mean well but the truth is that I need to face the reality of the situation if I’m to stay clean.”

Aramis nods, understanding now what he means. “You’re right, I’m sorry, but making you feel bad isn’t in my job description as older brother – slightly older, mind you - what’s ten years anyway?” Aramis muses.

D’Artagnan snorts out a laugh. “That’s you, talking to yourself about you and Reina. But it really isn’t a big deal, I hope that’s not holding you back from something more meaningful.”

“No, it’s not, but marriage and children have never been on my bucket list…until recently, maybe, and I’m trying very hard to wrap my head around it.”

“Go home, Aramis, go spend your evening with your amazing girl, she’s one of a kind, saved my life once, remember?”

“Yours _and_ Constance’s…and of course she helped bring your son into the world,” Aramis reminds him, truly in awe of his girl. “No, I’m not leaving just yet, scoot over, boy, this old man needs to lie down before he falls down.”

“Are we gonna have a cuddle?”

Aramis startles. D’Artagnan might be the bravest and maddest of all of them in combat or on the job, but he’s also the most vulnerable, much more so now, and Aramis knows that the lad’s made that statement only half in jest.

“As long as you don’t get handsy,” Aramis retorts and they both end up lying down, side by side and d’Artagnan flips on the telly, not bothering with the program, just leaving it for noise Aramis guesses. 

“I’ve spent more time in bed with you than I 'ave with Constance - or anyone else for that matter - in the past two months, you just can’t stay away, can you?”

“No, you’re irresistible and you know it,” Aramis counters, covering the both of them and d’Artagnan snorts out a giggle and then they’re both laughing and damn it feels so good Aramis thinks, very glad that the tension has dissipated.

“Aramis?”

“Hmn?”

“Do you honestly think that me and Constance will be able to patch things up? That everything will be like it was before?”

Aramis feels his heart clench and he needs a moment before he can form an answer. “I know that Constance wants to be with you again, that’s a fact, it’s set in stone. But I won’t lie to you, lad, and tell you that everything will go back to normal, not at first at least. You’ve been to hell and back and you’re not the same person you were before Kabul, and neither is Constance, but the fact that you still love each other and want to raise Theo together as a family means that the deck is stacked in your favour. How the two of you play the cards you’ve been dealt is up the pair of you.”

“Now it’s poker metaphors,” d’Artagnan grouses but there’s no real heat in his tone. “Um, thanks then, I guess I’d better improve my card skills?”

“No, your people skills only my boy. No more secrets, we can’t help you if you hide from us, or hide from yourself,” Aramis advises. “I don’t have to keep telling you that we’re here for you, you’ve got to know that by now I reckon.”

He hears d’Artagnan sigh quietly and then he moves his pillow closer to rest almost on Aramis’ shoulder and he curls up at his side, long legs pulled up tight and pressing on Aramis’ thigh, one hand resting on his arm, long fingers clutching his sleeve.

Aramis is very glad he’d thought to dim the lights, because now d’Artagnan can’t see the tears filling his eyes as they both drift off.

 

**_Porthos_ **

 

No one aside from Treville knows that Porthos has been to see the government approved therapist Rory.

He doesn’t even want to tell Ellie, it will worry her and Sylvie might get the wrong impression about why he needed to see him.

Because it’s not really for himself, he’s as fine as anyone who does his job and sees more death and destruction that the average copper does; he’s going because he thinks he’s failed d’Artagnan and that is something that he can’t live with.

The problem goes back to when d’Artagnan was doing his first round of rehab and then at home; Constance and the others were being very patient and supportive. Porthos though wanted him to bounce back _right now_ like he always did and seeing him so fragile had been unsettling. Aramis had gently told him that he needed to be more patient, and to accept the changes in their younger brother as he healed but Porthos has disagreed. He’d thought the best course of action was to just act like nothing had happened and in the end neither Athos and Aramis’ infinite patience nor Porthos’ ‘wipe that dirt off and get up’ attitude had been any help. As a result he feels guilty, like he may have said or done something that played a part in his relapse, although Rory had insisted, without violating patient confidentiality, that it truly wasn’t the case.

Porthos had also told Rory as much as he could without breaching protocol about the incident with Rochefort and the Russians and his lingering anger at d’Artagnan for offering to sacrifice himself to save Constance and his friends. Rory had swiftly reminded him of the farmhouse incident, where d’Artagnan basically done the same thing and wryly informed him that although he sees a new maturity in the lad that hadn’t the first time he’d counselled him that Porthos shouldn’t expect a lot to change. Responding to d’Artagnan’s recklessness with anger though, Rory warned, would not help, and careful not to betray d’Artagnan he’d hinted to Porthos that it was one of the many things that he and d’Artagnan were working out in his sessions and the therapist gave him the impression that they were making progress on that front as well.

Regardless of Rory’s assurances that Porthos was in no way to blame, he felt like he had to see it through and attend the five sessions that Treville has quietly arranged for him, and if he felt guilty that one entire session was focused on his anger towards Treville himself for allowing Louis to even suggest that d’Artagnan be sent to Kabul, Porthos was careful to keep his emotions in check around the older man.

He’d also spent another entire session focused on his own feelings of rage and helplessness when they’d found the lad in a rusty tin hut that was sweltering inside and stank of piss and sweat and vomit and the fact that d’Artagnan had been purposely overdosed, probably to die dishonourably in the eyes of his self-righteous captors. Thank fuck those wankers had been too hell-bent on shaming him that they hadn’t just blown his brains out when they’d realised they were under attack by British forces.

Telling Rory about that day was one of the hardest things he’d ever had to share with anyone. Once he’d realised that d’Artagnan had been overdosed he’d frantically called for Aramis to administer the Narcan needed to save his life. Porthos had picked him up in his arms like he weighed nothing and he ran through the hell of the firefight, the _(thank fuck)_ highly skilled Aramis covering him as he’d sprinted to the helicopter. There were those harrowing moments when d’Artagnan was being lifted in the basket when he and Aramis and one of the SAS blokes were laying down cover fire that Porthos was afraid they’d come all this way to save him just for him to be filled with holes but God had been on their side that day and he and Aramis had evacuated d’Artagnan in one piece and then _grudgingly_ (at least for Porthos) left the rest to the professional soldiers.

It’s day twenty three, he knows because Aramis has been marking the days on his phone to encourage the lad, and the four of them are sitting at a table in their favourite Asian take-away place. It’s a dive really, a place where the floor is pretty grotty and there’s only a few wobbly tables and some dodgy plastic chairs but the food is heaven and they’re all trying to act like their lives hadn’t gone bollocks-up two months prior…or that Porthos wasn’t tempted to bundle up d’Artagnan into his coat and take him straight back home where he could be under their controlled supervision at all times and not accidentally fall into temptation.

But that was both ridiculous and completely unfair to d’Artagnan who was trying very, very hard to make a full recovery so that he could return to work and hopefully to his family.

At the moment, Aramis is throwing baby carrots at d’Artagnan and the lad retaliates by tossing a cashew at him and Athos sighs loudly and accuses them of behaving like toddlers. But there’s no heat in his tone because it’s been ages since they’ve been this relaxed and Porthos barks out a laugh when Aramis is scolded by Mrs. Choi for throwing food in her fine establishment.

“Sorry my love, I can’t take this lot anywhere,” he tells her apologetically, casually blaming his brothers for his own antics and she blushes because grandmother or not, no one can resist Aramis’ charm.

They’re done with their meal when something unexpected happens that leaves Porthos equal parts angry and worried.

A group of lads comes in and sits down, rowdy white boys with buzz cuts and crude tattoos who within seconds of entering have already started using racial slurs to refer to the shop’s employees, harassing them and being a general nuisance and Mrs. Choi is not happy. But what’s much worse is that d’Artagnan pushes his chair back and gets to his feet.

“Lad, don’t, let Porthos handle it,” Athos hisses but Porthos gives him a nod; he’s decided to let d’Artagnan deal with it. If they force him to back down it will certainly undermine his confidence.

  
D’Artagnan ignores Athos and snakes Porthos’ wallet from the table that contains his ID and he walks over to the table of obnoxious youths. He flips open the wallet and shows them Porthos’ badge which identifies him as law enforcement and while his three brothers watch wound up and tense he speaks to them softly and somehow manages to get them to file out quietly, apologising sullenly to Mrs. Choi as they walk out the door.

He returns to their table, hands Porthos back his wallet and sits down like nothing out of the ordinary had just happened and Aramis, bless him, throws another baby carrot, at d’Artagnan’s face this time, and just like that the situation is diffused.

“Aramis you’re 41, could you at least act one-third of you age?” Athos says with an exaggerated sigh.

“That would make me 13.6 years old my dear brother, which means I am allowed to throw food in a take-way. You should have said _‘half your age’_ if you’d really wanted me to stop.”

That makes d’Artagnan bark out a laugh and spit out his coke, tears running from his eyes as he howls, as if it’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard.

Athos throws a napkin at him and tells him to mind his manners and Aramis of course, throws another vegetable. Porthos chuckles softly and feels his throat tighten. How long since they’d laughed like this? How long had it been since they’d had nothing more pressing than the outcome of the Arsenal match to concern them? Ages, maybe back when they’d Christened Theo and everyone was on the mend and thing were looking up for all of them. 

Fuck, it feels good to laugh, Porthos thinks to himself.

“We should get going soon, you’ve got weapons safety at o-eight hundred,” Aramis reminds him. “I can’t wait to make all the newbies wet their pants when they see your targets.”

“That’s a lot of pressure you’ve just put on me mate!” d’Artagnan gripes, wiping away tears and coke. “What if I fuck up?”

“If you fuck up I’ll put Porthos’ name on the targets,” Aramis says smoothly and now it’s Athos’ turn to laugh loudly. 

“You won’t fuck up,” Porthos says confidently. “Do me a favour, hold out your ‘ands, palms down.”

D’Artagnan looks a bit startled but he complies. They’re not shaking, not even the tiniest tremble and Porthos grunts in satisfaction. 

“You won’t fuck up,” he says firmly and d’Artagnan pulls his hands back shyly and Porthos knows that he himself agrees as well.

“Well at least Aramis has me scheduled in ages before the others arrive, this way he’ll have enough time to scribble Porthos’ names on the paper targets before anyone catches him doing it.”

It’s Porthos’ turn now to throw a greasy vegetable and Athos once again voices his displeasure, loudly. “Am I the only adult in the room?”

Almost at once the rest of them say ‘yes’ and that brings yet another round of happy laughter that Athos can’t resist either. It feels so good, so natural that Porthos doesn’t want the night to end. But they all have to be at work in the morning, they’ve shirked their duties for far too long, even Athos who is technically on leave since d’Artagnan is staying at his flat is going in to the office since d’Artagnan will be spending most of the day with Aramis.

The fact that one of them is required to be with d’Artagnan at all times until Rory and the doctor supervising his meds and his bloods sign off on him is the one thing that has Porthos still feeling unsettled. And he knows it’s making the lad feel anxious as well but there’s nothing to be done about it at the moment. If it’s the only thing standing between d’Artagnan and a complete recovery the four of them will face it together, like they face every crisis or injury within their little family. 

Oh, and there’s also those bloody urine tests that Athos has to administer twice a day.

At first, in usual d’Artagnan fashion, he’d complied angrily, then sullenly, but fortunately now eagerly. He is desperate to spend more time with Theo and extremely anxious to get back to work at some point. Although he may be free of his brothers’ supervision within the next two weeks or so returning to work will require a yet to be determined period of daily testing along with weapons re-certification and safety training with Aramis, and intensive physiotherapy to get back into a fit state to carry the weight of his kit.

Aside from Sylvie of course, no one at work knows what’s happened. They all think he was sent on a covert mission and was injured and is suffering some ramifications, both physical and emotional as a result. The lad himself had suggested they add in the PTSD since it is partly true and he doesn’t want his friends at work to think he’s avoiding them or for them to feel betrayed if he’s somewhat different when he returns to Counter-terrorism, which he certainly will be. You don’t go through such a life-altering event and not be affected fundamentally and permanently. 

Athos announces the time and d’Artagnan gets up to pay the bill. No one protests because every little thing he does independently is one step closer to complete recovery. Porthos watches as he blushes while Mrs. Choi heaps her praise and her appreciation on him and although she says their meal on the house d’Artagnan is adamant that he pay their bill. Porthos feels relieved and very fucking proud to see him looking so confident that he has to cough to clear the tightness in his throat.

“I’m right there with you brother,” Athos says, leaning over and whispering in his ear and Porthos can see the same emotions mirrored on Athos’ face as well. 

Porthos nods and gets to his feet. They’re not quite there yet but they will be, soon, and for the first time in a very long while he can actually be sure of it.

 

**_Athos_ **

 

“I’ve done something that I should have told you about already.”

They’re sitting in central London traffic, and Athos has both hands on the steering wheel but he turns to look at d’Artagnan who swings his gaze to the right to meet his brother’s eyes, one brow raised questioningly.

“I’ve been to see Rory to discuss your progress,” Athos confesses. 

“So? I’ve signed off on that, Rory knows he can tell you anything and everything we talk about.”

  
Athos nods. “Yes, but I should have told you, you have a right to know, you’re not a child and you’re not an invalid and keeping it from you was wrong.”

“Athos, please, we’re supposed to be working towards keeping my life drama free, don’t worry about it, I have nothing to hide from you, that’s why I gave him permission to speak to you whenever you wanted an update.”

The old d’Artagnan was all about hiding his fear and his pain and the fact that he’s given Athos access to his deepest secrets is a tremendous leap forward. “Agreed, but I should have told you what we discussed, because it’s weighing on me.”

D’Artagnan sighs. “Go on, tell me, I don’t want you angsting about me anymore than necessary,” he says drily.

Athos nods slowly. “D’Artagnan, he said that you’re almost ready to move back home aside from one thing.”

D’Artagnan makes a sound in his throat and turns to look out the passenger side window and says nothing.

“Apparently you know exactly what I’m talking about.”

“Rory wants to know if I tried to kill myself.”

“I want to know as well,” Athos retorts firmly.

“I don’t know, alright? I just don’t know!” he replies angrily. “Do you prefer I lie to you? My rational brain says I didn’t, I love my son and I love Constance and my family and all the rest of you, and I love what I do so it makes no sense that I would try to commit suicide! But on the other hand I have no idea exactly what I was thinking when I swallowed those pills! I was in severe withdrawal and I was exhausted and ashamed and I felt very, very lost, isn’t it Rory’s job to take all of those factors and come up with a fucking answer to that question?”

“It is and professionally speaking…as you already know…he thinks you’re not, and never have been, suicidal.”

“There, it should be done with then, why is ‘e still bangin’ on about it?”

Athos sighs. “Only because you regularly hold the lives of dozens of people in your hands, lad, and if he makes a mistake those lives could be on his head.”

“Wait, so he thinks I’ll go mental one day, shoot a bunch of people and then off myself?” d’Artagnan asks incredulously. 

“No, for fuck’s sake, lad, no! It’s your judgement he’s concerned about, nothing else, Jesus Christ, he and everyone else who’s ever met you knows that you would never do something like that!”

D’Artagnan suddenly deflates and he sags in his seat. Athos inches forward as the traffic light changes and they remain silent until the vehicle comes to a stop again. 

“He has a job to do, just like you have a job to do! Every day you make choices in SO25, and sometimes those choices inadvertently put lives at risk but you have to make the most informed decision based on the information available to you at that moment, agreed?”

“Hmn.”

“D’Artagnan?”

“Yes! Yes, I have to make hard calls and sometimes they suck and sometimes they’re dangerous, but you know damned well that my unit has the lowest rate of collateral damage in the fucking history of SO25!”

“And Rory would like to keep it that way. Aside from the obvious is there anything else you can remember, some particular thought or trigger? Do you remember what you were thinking just before you um...swallowed those pills?”

“Aside from going under hypnosis I doubt I’ll ever remember even one further detail of that miserable day, brother.”

Athos stills. “Would you be willing to do that? What if the outcome isn’t what you hope for?”

  
“If the outcome isn’t what I hope for I will retire from law enforcement gracefully and take a tech job somewhere in Government, I’m sure Treville can fob me off to some branch that could use a professional hacker? I’ll admit I’m a bit rusty but that’s just temporary I’m sure.”

“Would you be happy though?”

“Athos, can I ask you something? Are you always happy with what you do? Don’t bother to reply, I know you’re not because I know you, but you’ve adjusted and you’ve moved on and you do the best damn job possible. So the answer is maybe not happy but certainly content.”

“Who are you and what have you done with the boy I once knew?” Athos asks jokingly, but he’s actually floored by his response.

“I’m a bloke with a kid, mate, a little boy who depends on me to be by his side until I’m old and grey.”

“And you also have a girl who loves you dearly,” Athos adds softly. “One that loves you so much she’s made herself sick with worry. I told her I’d keep it quiet but she’s been ill on and off for the past few days and when I ask her what’s wrong she simply says it’s nothing to worry about.”

“What? Why didn’t you tell me! For fuck’s sake, Athos what if there’s something seriously wrong with her?” d’Artagnan shouts angrily. “And she’s home alone with Theo, how can she handle work and the baby and being sick?”

“Reina stayed over a few nights, and she seems better, I promise, and I only told you so that you’re not so God damned cold to her when we see her, alright?”

“You should’ve told me.”

“Frankly lad, you barely say her name, and you call her only to ask about the baby, I wasn’t sure if I should.” He hadn’t planned on being that harsh but even if they don’t manage to fix things between the two of them d’Artagnan needs to treat Constance with more respect. They’ve all been very patient with d’Artagnan but Constance is their sister and Athos will not allow d’Artagnan hurt her any further by letting her think any of this is on her.

D’Artagnan pointed ignores the dig. “Has she got a fever or a cough, fuck, she ‘ad pneumonia last winter, what if it’s something like that?” he asks worriedly.

“No, nothing like that, it’s her stomach, I’m worried she may have an ulcer,” Athos admits.

“Jesus Christ Athos, how could you NOT tell me!”

“You just asked that question and I already answered it, now calm down, Reina has arranged for her to be seen in the A&E so she doesn’t have to wait for an appointment. They’ve scheduled it for tomorrow, after work.”

“And Theo?”

“Ellie will watch Theo, it’s all been sorted.”

“Yes, you lot always manage to sort out our lives so perfectly,” d’Artagnan hisses. “If you’d told me then you and I would’ve been watching my son, but I’ve put physio for tomorrow afternoon and I can’t miss it, Porthos will ‘ave my head if I skip even one session.”

“Constance worked it all out on her own, with her friends, the rest of us had nothing to do with it. She just mentioned it when I went into the office yesterday. For Christ’s sake, lad, not everything is about you!”

“No it’s not, but it always fucking seems like it is,” he mumbles.

“I’m sorry, you didn’t deserve that,” Athos says, feeling contrite.

“Of course I did, because you’re right, I’m making this about me and this is about Constance. Athos, if she’s ill, if something happens to her, I…I don’t know how I would face it.”

Athos takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “You just told me you’re a ‘bloke with a kid’ which means you will handle it like an adult. But this conversation is pointless because I’m sure it’s not serious and no matter what it is we will face it like we always do; _together_.”

Traffic has thinned and Athos follows the route he’s set on his GPS. Normally there’d be no need to use directions to get to d’Artagnan’s flat but after the last time they’d gone to see Theo, Athos has decided that it’s best to avoid driving past the area where d’Artagnan had managed to score heroin, in order to avoid a repeat of the anxiety that had followed. 

It wasn’t in Porthos’ jurisdiction to arrest drug dealers and besides, Athos wanted to make sure it was an air-tight case. So he'd tipped off a friend at the Met and told her under no circumstances could he testify. If they wanted to take down the gang that had set up shop just a few streets away from d’Artagnan’s flat she’d have to do her own legwork and her own undercover operation. Last he’d heard there were three men were in custody and all were facing lengthy prison terms.

“Don’t let Constance know I’ve said anything, she’ll be angry with me and probably have a go at both of us, this visit is for you to see Theo, not Constance, focus on your child, lad, he’s the most important reason to get well,” Athos tells him sternly.

“If there’s something seriously wrong with her…” d’Artagnan repeats but then he stops and buries his face in his hands. Athos now feels like a complete tosser for worrying him but he’s also had enough of him treating the mother of his child like a stranger.

“D’Artagnan, I’m sure there isn’t. She’s kept up with her post-natal visits and if she was seriously ill her doctor would have picked up on it. If you say anything to her I will be very upset with you,” Athos warns and he knows that should be enough to make the younger man keep his mouth shut.

They find a parking spot two streets away and walk in silence to Constance and d’Artagnan’s flat. It’s cold and it’s dark but at least it’s not raining Athos thinks absently, feeling apprehensive about their scheduled visit. Up until now d’Artagnan’s time with Theo has been supervised by one of them along with Constance and it’s been awkward for all involved to say the least. He hopes tonight will go slightly better.

The find Constance cooking dinner and the table set for three. Theo is sitting in his baby-bouncy-thing in the lounge. When he sees his father he squeals with innocent happiness and Athos realises that this is the closest he will ever come to caring for someone else’s child. Aside from Marie of course, he simply doesn’t have the patience for children but Theo with his chubby little face and huge blue eyes has wormed his way into Athos’ heart and like Marie, has staked a piece of it for himself.

D’Artagnan drops to his knees and takes him out of the bouncer and he lies back on the carpet and sits Theo on top of him. Athos watches from the sofa in a kind of awe; Theo is so happy to see his father it makes Athos’ heart stutter when the little boy places sloppy kisses on his dad’s face. D’Artagnan has clearly put everything else aside for the moment and he tickles and teases his little boy until Theo is crying with laughter. They spend the next half hour or so playing like that, Theo’s happy giggles filling the otherwise quiet flat and they’re only interrupted when Constance comes over to tell them that dinner is ready. Theo joins them in his high chair and d’Artagnan feeds him more than himself but Athos doesn’t scold him for not eating, he’ll make him something easy later when they go home.

Constance has been mostly silent but certainly not angry or sullen, more thoughtful, Athos judges. She also picks at her food and that worries him greatly.

As for Constance and d’Artagnan they have said maybe two words to each other which is actually an improvement over his persistent snarking and pointed jabs during their previous visits.

After they eat she encourages d’Artagnan to give Theo his bath and his bottle and put him to sleep and he happily disappears with his little boy, leaving Athos to help Constance clean up.

“I’m not working tomorrow, let me, please,” Athos says and he leads her back to a dining chair so she can keep him company as he tidies up.

“He looks better,” she comments lightly. “Is his shoulder healed enough to be lifting Theo? I didn’t even ask.”

“Yes, don’t worry.”

“Well that’s good, _and_ he hasn’t reminded me once that I walked out on him, it’s an evening for the record books,” Constance tells Athos tiredly.

“It’s been twenty eight days and he’s made tremendous progress on all fronts, I’m sure this time it will stick.”

“I agree, and I’m very happy for him.”

Athos closes the dishwasher and goes to sit with her. “When his therapist gives the green light, will you allow him to return home?”

Constance looks startled at the question. “Of course, why wouldn’t I want him back home where he belongs? The question is does he want to come back?”

Athos takes her hand in his and squeezes. “You’ll have to spend some time together, just the two of you, to talk and to work through his anger and your fears.”

“I’m not afraid of him, Athos, only afraid for him.”

“I know, and he is too, trust me, so if he comes home you’ll have to be patient.”

“Of course I will, I love him, now more than ever,” she tells him fiercely. 

Athos leans over to pull her into an awkward hug and he feels like a huge weight has been lifted from his shoulders. When she hugs him back tightly and buries her face in his jumper his eyes go damp. This is the first step towards helping his friends find each other again and Athos truly feels lighter than he has in a very long time.

 

**_Constance_ **

 

“What are you doing here?”

D’Artagnan practically jumps out of his chair. “Jesus Christ, Constance you scared the fuck out of me!”

“Sorry, I didn’t realise you were sleeping,” she mumbles, suddenly feeling petulant. “I’m not exactly having the best day as you can see.”

“No, you didn’t wake me, I mean you scared me, with what ‘appened, when Reina called I nearly had a heart attack.”

He gets to his feet and he shoves his hands in the pocket of his jeans and she can tell he’s upset, and very anxious. She turns her wrist to untangle her hand from the drip line and she sighs. “Is Theo alright?”

“Yeah, he’s staying over with Ellie and Porthos, and my boss is having a disgustingly good time playing with my son. Says he wants _‘one of ‘is own’_ now.”

Constance huffs out a laugh but it’s followed by a cough, her throat is still irritated from the gastroscopy tube. 

“Are you ok? Should I call the nurse or something?” d’Artagnan asks worriedly.

“No, just pour me some water, please,” she requests politely. She really hadn’t expected to wake up and find him in her hospital room and it’s awkward to say the least. He looks tired, like he hasn’t slept in days, but he’s still the most gorgeous boy she’s ever seen. His hair is a bit longer and his beard fuller, and there are still some healing cuts and fading bruises she hadn’t really noticed the night before at dinner, they’d both been carefully avoiding each other from the minute he’d walked in, and to be honest she’d made sure he’d spent most of his time with Theo and not with her and Athos.

“Who brought you here?” she asks when she hands him back the empty cup.

“Aramis, he went mental when he heard what happened, you know how he worries about you, I thought I’d have to drive _him_ to be honest. Athos had to go to the office, some crisis or another, so it’s just me and Aramis, we came a few hours ago, you’ve been sleeping,” d’Artagnan explains absently. “I’ve known you for almost ten years, Constance, and I didn’t know you had any allergies.”

“Neither did I, and it’s not the first time I’ve had that kind of medication administered, I don’t understand it,” she murmurs tiredly. 

“I’m guessing they didn’t get your stomach test done then…if you had an allergic reaction to the sedative.”

“No.”

D’Artagnan falls back into the chair beside her. The room is for three patients but by some miracle she’s alone, something she is very grateful for since her...her what? Her partner? The father of her child? The bloke she used to live with?...is there. Everything has gone so wrong she hardly knows anymore.

“I don’t understand why you didn’t tell me you were sick,” d’Artagnan says quietly.

“When was I supposed to tell you? I see you for a couple of hours every few days and you barely give me a second glance.” She truly does not want to pick a fight with him but he’d asked a question and she answered it.

“I know…I’m sorry, I’ve not been very…kind, but it hasn’t been easy for me…”

“For me either, mate, but it’s late and I’m tired…”

“Why did they even try and do a gastroscopy so late in the day? I don’t understand any of this,” d’Artganan tells her, cutting her off.

“Because I’d have to wait months for an appointment and Reina called in a favour and had me pushed through the A&E as an emergency. The gastroenterologist on call is a good friend of hers, he was just trying to help, I guess the fact that I’d kept my stomach empty all day didn’t help…”

“If you had told me we would have gone private, you wouldn’t have had to wait or go through all of this…”

“D’Artagnan, I’m barely making ends meet, I couldn’t go private,” she informs him flatly.

The look of shock on his face gives her a tiny bit of satisfaction. “Explain that Constance.”

“No _you_ explain, d’Artagnan, how I’ve been buying food, keeping up with the bills and paying for daycare without your help?”

“Our joint account?”

“No, see you’re on medical, you have been since the minute you were admitted to the hospital after your return from Kabul. Your sick benefits aren’t full pay and the money takes ages to come because it has to be signed off by your doctors and a dozen other lazy bureaucrats! Our government was happy to send you to a war zone but not very eager to pay you for it.”

He looks so shocked and horrified she thinks he might actually faint. “And you didn’t tell Athos you needed help or even ask Porthos to have a word with HR?”

Constance baulks. “Tell Athos what? That I need money? We already owe him thousands, remember? Fuck knows if we’ll ever be able to pay that back and Porthos can’t do anything beyond filing your paper work, which he has of course.”

D’Artagnan gets to his feet and begins pacing. “We’ve got some savings, you should have taken money from there.”

“I did, to cover the mortgage. Listen, if you’re not planning on coming back we should list the flat, I don’t mind moving somewhere smaller, Theo and I don’t need…”

To her horror, d’Artagnan goes stiff and pale and he truly looks like he’s going to pass out. She reaches out and grabs his wrist. “Jesus, sit, before you fall,” she tells him sternly, and he does. 

“We’re adults who share a child, d’Artagnan, and the welfare of our child should always come first,” she begins tentatively. “I understand you’re angry with me, regardless of the fact that I explained that I had to leave for Theo’s safety. But I didn’t abandon you, I told Athos and the lads that they needed to get you help because I didn’t know what was happening with you and you just kept lying to me. Thank fuck they figured it out, and I’m very glad you’re doing so well. But I can’t go on like this, we have to start co-parenting at some point and you need to be civil to me if we’re going to raise a healthy and happy child.”

“Constance, please, I don’t…” he whispers, and she’s horrified to see that he’s crying. Oh God, what if he does something stupid?

“D’Artagnan listen to me, we don’t have to decide anything tonight,” Constance tells him in a much more gentle tone. “And no matter what we’ll always be…a family,” she adds, stumbling over her words. 

“Jesus Christ, Constance, I love you and I want to come home, to you and Theo, and keep our flat and go back to work with Porthos and have what we 'ad before,” he tells her in a rush, tears running down his face unchecked. “And if we need money I’ll borrow from my parents or get an overdraft or whatever it takes, please, Constance for the love of God _don’t leave me!”_

“Bollocks, don’t cry, Aramis will kill me if he sees you like that…”

“I don’t give a fuck what Aramis or anyone else thinks right now! Besides, we still don’t know what’s wrong with you! When I ‘eard you were ill I realised just what a twat I’d been…if there’s something seriously wrong…fuckin’ ‘ell… I can’t lose you Constance, I just can’t…and not because I’ll start using again, I’ll never, ever go down that road again I swear…but because you’re the only woman I’ve ever loved and will ever love, no matter what!”

His eyes are red and swollen and the patches of yellow from the fading bruises mar his normally smooth skin and he truly looks awful but to her he’s beautiful because for the first time in ages she sees honesty in his gaze and she believes every word he’s said.

“Come ‘ere,” she says quietly, and she reaches out her hand to him and he rises slowly and takes it tentatively, mindful of the drip line, tears still running down his face and falling onto his jumper.

“There’s nothing seriously wrong with me,” Constance tells him with conviction. “My blood work has come back and I’d already had an ultrasound of my upper and lower abdomen and there’s no indication of any kind of serious illness, I promise. But I still need to do the gastroscopy to make sure that my stomach cramps are just stress and not an ulcer or maybe gastritis or some other treatable illness that needs medication,” she explains patiently. “You should only come home though if that’s what you truly want and not because you think you should or because you think you ‘ave to. If you think it’s best for your well-being to stay with Athos we can work things out like adults and that’ll be ok as well. I will always be there for you d’Artagnan, no matter what, I promise.”

“God, no, please, I want to come home! I’ve been in agony every minute we’ve been apart, and even now I’m still not allowed to come home and take care of you and it’s killing me to think I’ve got to go back to Athos’ and you’ll be going home alone,” he says miserably.

“I won’t be alone, Reina’s coming to stay again for a few days, she’s been a Godsend, truly, and Ellie comes round every day to help with Theo. It’ll also give you some time to think, make sure you’re doing what’s best for you…”

“I know what’s best for me!” he hisses angrily. “I need to be home with my family, I need to stand on my own two feet again and take care of you and Theo like I’m supposed to…”

“Oi, independent woman with a gun and a career here, mate, I’ve been managing just fine without a man around,” she retorts.

“God, yes, of course, but I’ve got to carry my share of the load. Besides, you can’t think waking up to Athos and Sylvie going at it at six am is more pleasant than waking up with you in my arms and the sound of Theo’s laughter coming in over the baby monitor,” he says with a watery chuckle. 

“I um, I’ve moved him back into our room these past few days to be honest, ever since I’ve been under the weather. Reina helped me move his crib and bless her, she’s been sleeping on the sofa since we no longer have the pull-out.”

“Look, I’ve got one last thing to work out in therapy and then Rory’s promised that I’m free. Give me a few days to deal with it and then you won’t need anyone to sleep on the sofa or the floor or anything.”

“Is it something I should know about?”

D’Artagnan drops her hand gently and turns away from her. “Has Athos told you what ‘appened the day they took me back to rehab?”

“No why?”

He sighs. “I um, I took a handful of pills, I was out of my head mind you, but Rory says he needs to know if I was looking for a fix or…trying to off myself.”

“D’Artagnan, no!” she whispers, shocked and horrified. Oh God, what if it was because she’s taken Theo and gone? Suddenly the heart monitor begins beeping and she truly feels sick and lightheaded. At once two nurses enter the room and immediately check her blood pressure, her pulse and her oxygen while a third questions d’Artagnan sternly.

“You’re here as a favour to a colleague mate, if you’re gonna upset her I’ll toss you out on your ear!” she warns.

“I swear, I won’t please…”

“It’s fine, really, he didn’t do anything, I feel better, it was just a moment of dizziness or something…” Constance insists. He can’t leave, not now and not like this!

When the room empties again he rushes over to her. “Listen, Rory doesn’t actually believe that and neither do I but we still have to have a few sessions, so he can be sure, it’s his job ‘n all that.”

“You would never do that,” Constance says with conviction. “Not because of me but because of Theo, you would never willingly leave Theo fatherless, I know you and I know how you think, you can tell Rory that if it means anything.”

“The lads’ve told him the same thing, as ‘ave I, and I haven’t had any suicidal thoughts of course, but I did tell them to leave my Glock and go earlier that day….I swear, I didn’t mean it, I was angry and I was worried that Porthos would toss me in the lock-up in withdrawal and I said I’d rather blow my brains out than detox in prison. It was all such a fucking mess,” he murmurs. 

“When we got to the hospital I was all over the place and I was tired and aching for a hit and I took some pills that a nurse forgot in my room. I just wanted to sleep…block everything out I think,” d’Artagnan explains quietly. “They had to tell Rory everything of course and like I said, he thinks I was just off my head because of the heroin withdrawal but he needs to be sure…and I guess I need to be sure as well.”

It’s a helluvalot to take in at eleven pm after a long day at work, hours of tests and a severe allergic reaction but Constance listens patiently. She believes him, the nervous, anxious d’Artagnan that had been lying to her weeks ago is gone and this man is a much calmer, much more mature version of the boy she’d fallen in love with. “I believe you, really, you’d never do that, not even when you thought I was gone when Rochefort abducted me did you try something like that. The lads told me your were quite out of it and I know you were pretty reckless with the bike, but if you’d really wanted to end it there were a hundred ways for you do it while you were alone in our flat.”

He sits back down beside her and looks at her longingly. “Listen, you need rest and I’m not going anywhere, Aramis can sleep in the visitors lounge for all I care if he won’t leave without me because I need to be here…please, don’t make me go.”

Constance sighs loudly. “I’m gonna have to listen to Aramis bangin’ on about his aching back, but he’ll survive,” she replies cheekily, feeling more herself than she has in days. “I’d like it if you stayed to be honest, I’ve missed waking up to your pretty face.”

He laughs softy. “And I’ve missed yours,” he replies, yawning and moving his chair closer to the bed so he can touch her arm. “Sleep, I’ll be here, I swear.”

She closes her eyes and drifts off almost as once, his hand stroking her arm and she falls into the first restful sleep she’s had in weeks.

 

End of Part 2


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is it, the last entry in the Lonely Winds series (aside from a timestamp I've promised that will be focused on Athos' surgery/recovery) and I'd like to thank Arduna for beta and hand holding and everyone who took the time to read, leave a review or kudos as I say goodbye to the characters I've become very attached to :) I'm a bit sad that this last and final story hasn't garnered the enthusiasm I had hoped for since it was actually my favourite in the series and the most coherent since both Arduna and I have edited the sections multiple times for errors and continuity, but then again what I enjoy writing may not always what someone else enjoys reading so yeah, that's just the way things are! I may be back with other adventures in other universes but for now, Happy Holidays to all of you and again, thank you all for your time!

**_Part 3 – The White Knight_**

**_Now_ **

The _last_ time he’d been in their bed had been the _first_ time they’d made love since his return from Kabul and his subsequent release from the hospital. 

____Although Constance hadn’t actually left until a week after that night, d’Artagnan had taken to sleeping on the sofa, citing nightmares and restlessness, because he was afraid she would figure out what he’d been up to….and that terrified him._ _ _ _

____Why he’d gone looking for a hit the morning after he and Constance had been intimate was a topic that Rory had literally beaten to death, because he’d wanted to know if their encounter had been the catalyst knock him off the proverbial wagon. Yes, there had been issues during their lovemaking and yes, afterwards Constance had seemed pensive, almost frightened, but d’Artagnan would never place the blame for his failings on anything Constance had done or said._ _ _ _

____This was on him…all on him._ _ _ _

____After more sessions than d’Artagnan can even count, Rory had concluded that d’Artagnan had needed more counselling and support before being released from the hospital the first time around. His insecurities had been far too many, causing his anxiety to spiral out of control, and he’s acknowledged that he’d felt lost, like a stranger in his own body, and too afraid of censure to speak to one of his brothers or Constance about what was going in his mind. Instead, he’d taken the quick and easy route to quieting all those voices in his head that were calling him weak, a failure and unfit to return to his job; heroin._ _ _ _

____All of this had been pretty clear from day one of their sessions but it had taken weeks for them to both agree that d’Artagnan was not, and never had been, suicidal. This had been the sticking point, the reason that Rory wouldn’t give him the all clear to go home to Constance and Theo or to eventually return to active duty but after d’Artagnan himself had suggested hypnosis and the session had been recorded and analysed, Rory had finally concluded that d’Artagnan had never really wanted to kill himself._ _ _ _

____Now it’s nearly forty days have passed since the day his brothers had confronted him and returned him to rehab and he’s lying in his own bed again, almost exactly as he had been that last night they’d made love, in just his boxers despite the chill, his eyes fixed on a fine crack in the plaster on the ceiling._ _ _ _

____He’d been given the ok to move back home two days prior but he hadn’t told Constance, he’d needed a day or so to process that he would actually be going home, but with the condition that the pair of them attend counselling together, to avoid any problems with child services as well as to rebuild their own relationship. D’Artagnan was all for it, as was Constance, but there was still some trepidation because they would need to discuss intimate things with a complete stranger…someone Rory had chosen of course…but still a stranger._ _ _ _

____“He’s asleep. I think he realised that you weren’t, um, leaving, and he became overexcited,” Constance is saying as she changes into her pyjamas, not quite looking at him but not really avoiding him either. Rory had warned the pair of them to not discuss why she’d left or why he’d started using until after their first few sessions with their new therapist. There was no point to it anyway, so much had been said already and the last thing that either of them wants is to fight in front of the baby. Constance slides in beside him and switches off the lamp and she pulls the duvet up to cover both of them._ _ _ _

____The silence is awkward and unnerving, as is the fact that neither of them attempts to get comfortable or close their eyes. They both just stare up at the ceiling, the muted sound of late night traffic bleeding through the double-glazed balcony doors, the only other noise in their room the sound of their breathing._ _ _ _

____“You didn’t eat much today, are you not feeling well?” she finally asks softly, breaking the silence._ _ _ _

____“I should be asking you that. You never did say if the results of your second test came back.”_ _ _ _

____“No, a few more days, but Reina had a quick word with the doctor, he didn’t see anything abnormal but he needs to wait for the biopsies before calling me in.”_ _ _ _

____D’Artagnan stills. “Biopsies? Why did he do biopsies?” d’Artagnan asks, shocked._ _ _ _

____“It’s standard procedure, they take samples to test for various illnesses, to rule them out most of the time,” Constance explains patiently._ _ _ _

____“And did he mention if he thinks you have one of these ‘various illnesses’?” d’Artagnan asks, insistent._ _ _ _

____“I just said that he told Reina no, he doesn’t suspect anything. You’ve got to stop worrying about this, it’s already been blown out of proportion,” she replies wearily, referring to her allergic reaction and her subsequent hospitalisation._ _ _ _

____D’Artagnan considers her words. How can he not worry? He’d been stupid and he’d almost lost her, the thought of her being sick is simply unbearable._ _ _ _

____“Stop thinking so loud,” Constance scolds and she moves closer, curling up beside him, closing not only the physical distance between them with her actions. Immediately his body relaxes and he turns towards her, one arm wrapping around her waist, and he tucks her head under his chin.  
It feels so good he thinks he might cry._ _ _ _

____“I’ve missed you,” he whispers, “so fucking much.”_ _ _ _

____“Me too, it’s been a while since we’ve just…held each other.”_ _ _ _

____“Too long.”_ _ _ _

____Constance sighs. “I know.”_ _ _ _

____“You smell nice.”_ _ _ _

____“Your beard is itchy.”_ _ _ _

____They both start to laugh, it feels so strange to be there together, but also so very natural. He moves around a bit so his beard doesn’t touch her forehead and they relax again._ _ _ _

____“Maybe you should shave it off, go clean shaven for a while, a change,” Constance suggests, and he wonders if it has something to do with their attempt at a new start._ _ _ _

____“And cut my hair?” he queries, curious._ _ _ _

____“God no, you’ll look twelve. Besides, you know I love your long hair. Just the beard, I like it ‘n all but it’s scratchy…when you kiss me,” she whispers. “It’s become a lot thicker than you’ve ever kept it before.”_ _ _ _

____His relief is palpable, it’s not him that she wants to change, it’s their level of intimacy, and that heartens him considerably._ _ _ _

____“Tomorrow, I’ll do it in the morning before we take Theo to my Mum’s, before our um…session, or whatever you want to call it.”_ _ _ _

____“I know how you feel about your parents finding out what’s happened to you but they must suspect something,” she says tentatively._ _ _ _

____“They do, but they also know that there is a measure of secrecy that goes along with my job at Counter-terrorism so they haven’t pushed. I’ve already told them it wasn’t really pneumonia, that a mission went sideways and I’ve been having…issues, thankfully they haven’t insisted on knowing more.”_ _ _ _

____“PTSD then.”_ _ _ _

____“Yes, it’s what this has all felt like anyway,” d’Artagnan admits. “Sleeplessness, flashbacks, anxiety, all part of my journey down the rabbit hole, only I didn’t fall, I jumped it with both feet,” he tells her, proud that he can admit to it without all the self-loathing he’d felt before. He remembers that Rory had warned him about opening up this topic before therapy though so he tries to change the subject. “When is your medical leave up?”_ _ _ _

____“Monday, I um, I was hoping we could do something special on the weekend, you, me and Theo, a family again,” she says shyly and God he loves her so much for trying so hard even after all he’s put her through._ _ _ _

____“I’d love that, maybe we could go to my Uncle’s place in Bath, he’s just had the builders in and my mum says it’s been completely renovated, I’m sure he’d be willing to lend it out to us.”_ _ _ _

____“That sounds nice,” she answers, and suddenly her head drops lowers and he feels her tongue swipe over his left nipple and he gasps, a spike of desire going straight to his cock from that simply gesture._ _ _ _

____“Don’t take your time and don’t bother with too much foreplay,” Constance whispers, her tongue moving to his right nipple before she begins to suck a bruise into his chest just below his collar bone._ _ _ _

____“Oh, God, Constance you’re going to kill me,” he moans, his hands moving under her pyjama top, stroking her breasts roughly._ _ _ _

____She licks her way back up to his mouth. Their kiss is tentative despite their arousal and d’Artagnan dips his tongue into her mouth slowly and gently but Constance clearly isn’t in the mood for slow and gently and she immediately deepens the kiss and it’s hot and familiar and wonderful and d’Artagnan loses himself in it and lets her take the lead._ _ _ _

____Constance is the one to break their kiss and she pulls back slightly. “I’ve missed you, and this, and I want you, badly,” she urges, breathless, and D’Artagnan doesn’t need to be told twice._ _ _ _

____They move apart just long enough for him to grab a condom and roll it on and they’re both fumbling to get her pyjamas out of the way. He pushes into her with just enough gentleness not to hurt her but otherwise this is not going to be slow and sensual, it’s going to be rough and fast and they’re both clearly fully on board with that. Constance is coming after just a few deep thrusts, d’Artagnan needs a bit longer but it’s so fucking amazing and after her orgasm fades she urges him on with unexpected but very welcome dirty talk, and he comes hard, his movements awkward and clumsy but neither of them cares, there’s too much love between them for them to worry about perfect lovemaking. Their separation and their longing makes it one of the most intense encounters they’ve ever had, even though it barely lasted more than a few moments._ _ _ _

____They move apart slowly, breathing hard and cleaning up only minimally with the tissues on the nightstand because they both just want to get close to each other again. Constance puts on her top and her knickers and twines her bare legs with his and neither of them wants to move, neither of them wants to break the contact or the bond that’s tentatively being formed between them again, and it feels exciting, like it did years ago in Leeds when they couldn’t get enough of each other d’Artagnan thinks as he pulls her close, careful this time to avoid scratching her face his with beard._ _ _ _

____There’s a sound, like a soft squeaking coming from Constance’s bedside table, it gets louder, more insistent and then it becomes a wail._ _ _ _

____Theo._ _ _ _

____D’Artagnan groans which makes Constance giggle. She kisses him soundly and pulls away reluctantly, looking for her pyjama bottoms. Before she goes to the nursery she comes around his side of the bed and leans over and presses a quick kiss on the corner of his mouth._ _ _ _

____“I love you, know that always, no matter what, it’s you and only you…forever.”_ _ _ _

____She says it with an intensity that makes his breath catch and he’s feels floored by the raw emotion in her tone. He nods, grabs her hand and squeezes it gently._ _ _ _

____“Everything you just said times a million.”_ _ _ _

____She smiles and she kisses him again and goes to check on their son._ _ _ _

____Their son._ _ _ _

____Their family._ _ _ _

____Their home._ _ _ _

____God, it’s so fucking good to be back, so damn good to be home._ _ _ _

____ _ _

____**_Now_ ** _ _ _ _

____ _ _

____Treville has only been to see him twice since his return from Kabul; once when he’d first been admitted to the hospital, when d’Artagnan was still too sick to interact with people and he could barely keep his eyes open and his brain focused. Aside from the heroin overdose there was the malnutrition, the dehydration and the cardiac arrhythmia that was so bad at the beginning he thought he would have a heart attack. Then of course came the withdrawal, the itching, cramping, vomiting, and the longing for a hit but it had so gone much easier than it eventually would the second time around because the during his first hospital stay he was being lauded as a devoted and courageous soldier, doing his part to keep his country safe and all that bollocks that his superiors and his brothers and Constance had fed him while holding his hand 24/7, handling him with kid gloves and showering him with praise and support._ _ _ _

____The second time Treville had visited had been the day after psycho Dave had beat the shite out of him and he was once again bedridden with drips and machines surrounding him but Treville hadn’t had that same proud look on his face as the first time, he’d looked ashamed and embarrassed and d’Artagnan hadn’t been sure if he should let him off the hook or let him suffer a bit._ _ _ _

____Until the older man had buried his face in his hands and begun to cry quietly and that’s when d’Artagnan decided that holding a grudge against a person he knew cared deeply for all of them would be petty and childish. Besides, no one had forced him to go to Kabul; Treville and Louis might have dangled the carrot but he’s the one who’d snatched it from them willingly._ _ _ _

____Eventually he’d reached out one hand to Treville who’d grabbed it at once and although no words were said… d’Artagnan’s mouth had been too swollen anyway… and they’d clung to each other like that for a long while, sitting in comfortable silence until d’Artagnan had finally drifted off to sleep._ _ _ _

____Now he’s in Treville’s office in the main MoD building at Whitehall and d’Artagnan has only agreed to the meeting because Louis is away from London for a few days. He really does not want to face the Minister just yet._ _ _ _

____“I’ve instructed accounting to top up your sick benefits to reflect your full salary as well as overtime pay and a hazardous duty bonus. Louis has also given me access to an account for any special treatments or therapies you might need, Athos mentioned something about laser scar removal, just tell me where to write the check, lad.”_ _ _ _

____D’Artagnan had already known about the back pay but the offer of laser scar removal leaves him feeling giddy, it really was the one thing that was still torturing him; seeing the track marks on his arms, day in and day out, was truly agonising._ _ _ _

____Someone knocks but doesn’t wait for Treville to answer before opening the door and the only person who would do that of course is Athos, who slips in and sits in the chair beside d’Artagnan. His expression gives nothing away but d’Artagnan knows why he’s there; to act as a buffer, just in case._ _ _ _

____“I heard a rumour you were around here somewhere,” Athos says casually. Athos, Constance and the rest of the Agency tech and administration employees are temporarily housed on Treville’s floor while repairs are still being carried out next door on the bomb-damaged building that is the usual headquarters of the MoD’s various support branches and as well as the Agency._ _ _ _

____“I find it amusing that you even bothered to knock,” Treville complains but there’s no real heat in his tone. D’Artagnan stifles a laugh as the two men mock stare each other down; he’s very glad that Treville is just one more person looking out for Athos, who sometimes forgets that he can’t always take care of everyone else, sometimes he needs someone to worry about him as well._ _ _ _

____“Don’t stop on my account,” Athos says innocently and d’Artagnan grins at his cheekiness._ _ _ _

____“D’Artagnan and I were just discussing his compensation. I had no idea that he wasn’t being paid in full and that’s on me and the Minister and I am truly sorry for the cock up. I hope that you and Constance haven’t suffered financially in the meanwhile?”_ _ _ _

____D’Artagnan is tempted to tell him _‘yes, you lot fucked up again and Constance could barely pay the bills and then she ended up in hospital’,_ but what comes out of course is very different. “No sir, no problem…and I’m grateful for all you’ve done.”_ _ _ _

____Athos gives him a look but d’Artagnan ignores it. He has no intention of adding to Treville’s guilt by informing him that Constance had ended up nearly destitute while he was on sick benefits. It would serve no purpose and d’Artagnan cares too much for this man to hurt him needlessly. It’s over and done with and telling him wouldn’t change a thing._ _ _ _

____“Right well I’ve got a meeting in five gents,” Treville says, the worry having now faded from his face and d’Artagnan is glad he’s kept his mouth shut. They all agree to meet for a meal later in the week and then d’Artagnan and Athos head for the cafeteria in the basement where Athos practically shoves him into a chair and then scolds him._ _ _ _

____“You should have told him. I love him like a father but he dropped the ball,” Athos tells d’Artagnan. “From the minute he’d signed off on you taking part in that mission he should have been aware of everything that followed, good and bad.”_ _ _ _

____D’Artagnan baulks. “And you really think that something like my pay should have been on his radar? I myself didn’t even bother to ask Constance or even Porthos about it, and I’m sure that national security was a bit higher up on Treville’s list of priorities than my sick benefits, Athos. Let it go, it done.”_ _ _ _

____Athos frowns and taps his fingers on the table nervously. “I can’t believe that Constance didn’t say anything to me, we work together, I see her almost every day, she had dozens of opportunities to tell me she was struggling.”_ _ _ _

____“Athos you’re a very generous person and a damn good friend but Constance and I can’t come to you for help every time we need money. I understand why she didn’t tell you, she’s proud and she’s been taking care of herself financially for a very long time. I’m sure if Theo’s health or safety had become an issue she would have said something but she managed and it’s important to her that she did it on her own.”_ _ _ _

____Athos nods. “I understand that, but d’Artagnan you’ve got to know I only have you and Constance and the lads, and more money than I could ever spend even if I never worked again,” the older man admits._ _ _ _

____“So never work again and spend your money sailing the world with Sylvie,” d’Artagnan tells him sincerely._ _ _ _

____‘And who will look after you lot? You and Constance have a baby and are barely adults yourselves and Aramis is…well _Aramis_ ,” he says with a mock grimace, “And Porthos has taken on too many responsibilities, he’s pushing himself far too hard to please the brass, someone needs to keep an eye on him, make sure he’s doesn’t have a meltdown,” he huffs._ _ _ _

____“I’m pretty sure that’s Ellie’s job,” d’Artagnan teases, “and Aramis is a lot more balanced since Reina’s come into his life. But if you’re trying to point out that we all need you, brother, well the truth is that _of course_ we fucking need you. You keep us all in line and you keep us sane and I’d miss you like mad if you weren’t here. But you should do more for yourself, buy yourself a nice car or take a few weekends away…go to Cornwall at least…or something.”_ _ _ _

____Athos raises one brow. “Cornwall? Isn’t that where the elderly go to die?”_ _ _ _

____D’Artagnan laughs. “Maybe but Constance and I have had some great weekends there…back when you er, didn’t know…” he says embarrassed._ _ _ _

____“Child, I think I always knew, I just didn’t want to ruin what we all had,” Athos confesses and it makes d’Artagnan’s heart clench to know that the steady, sometimes stoic Athos had put his career on the line to keep them all together as a family the entire time they’d been Team 3. This new bit of information is almost overwhelming; he’d always known that Athos loved them all dearly but to actually hear him say it - albeit in Athos-speak of course - really is the perfect way to start a new chapter in his life._ _ _ _

____“Thank you for telling me that. It puts some things into perspective for me, especially now that I’m trying to get my life back in order.”_ _ _ _

____“Perspective how?”_ _ _ _

____“It’s complicated…but I’ll never suggest you sail away and leave us again, I don’t think I could deal with that.”_ _ _ _

____Athos simply nods and gives d’Artagnan a rare full smile. “No, I don’t think I could live with that either, child.”_ _ _ _

____ _ _

____**_Now_ ** _ _ _ _

____ _ _

____“I hate to burst your balloon, lad, but you missed more than you hit today. Something on your mind?”_ _ _ _

____D’Artagnan takes off his safety glasses and puts his weapon down carefully. “Probably. It’s these sessions that Constance and I ‘ave to attend with the therapist, to make sure we’re providing a stable environment for Theo ‘n all that.”_ _ _ _

____Aramis looks worried and he takes the borrowed weapon and safety equipment and quickly returns it to the officer in charge of the training area. He then steers d’Artagnan one fight up to his office where he closes and locks the door behind them, indicating that d’Artagnan, who’s feeling a bit wary at this point, should sit. He takes two posh-looking pomegranate juices from his mini fridge, opens them and inserts two paper straws into the glass bottles and passes one to d’Artagnan._ _ _ _

____“Healthy juice, glass bottles, paper straws, let me guess, you’ve joined Greenpeace?”_ _ _ _

____Aramis sits in his desk chair and snorts out a laugh. “No but Reina’s gone full on ‘green’, there are _rules_ now,” he says with a mock grimace._ _ _ _

____D’Artagnan lets out a chuckle. “Since when do you follow rules?”_ _ _ _

____“Since I started dating a woman as young as you, who also happens to be very intelligent and very, very hot,” he replies matter of factly as if that explains everything. “Forget my recyclables, lad, and tell me what’s bothering you, or at least as much as you can without breaking confidence.”_ _ _ _

____“No secrets brother, you already know most of it, but I had to listen to Constance tell the therapist why she left for Preston. I can’t even remember some of the things she said I did, the moments she described,” he admits. “She also told him one day I was so manic and jumpy that I’d nearly dropped Theo; that, of course, I remember, because a few hours later she was gone.”_ _ _ _

____“D’Artagnan, she isn’t telling him all of this to punish you or hurt you, it’s simply part of the process, to discuss what happened and why, to make sure it doesn’t ever happen again,” Aramis explains gently. “When you pair of you went home afterwards, how was her behaviour towards you?”_ _ _ _

____“Normal, and at one point she hugged me and said she was glad to get it all of her chest and put it behind us.”_ _ _ _

____“Well then, there’s your answer, she’s already moved on, I know it made you feel awful and maybe a bit like beating a dead horse but Constance hadn’t been a part of your recovery process before and whether it’s enjoyable or not you’ll have to face this last hurdle, lad. If you think it will actually damage the progress you’ve made you’ve got to tell me right now - no more secrets - you just said it yourself moments ago.”_ _ _ _

____D’Artagnan sighs and gets to his feet and walks over to the window, staring absently outside. “No, nothing like that, I was just very ashamed.”_ _ _ _

____Aramis rises and comes to stand beside him. “Shame is the last thing you should feel, be proud, you’ve come so far, I don’t know how I would have handled it if it’d been me sent to Kabul and in your situation,” he admits._ _ _ _

____D’Artagnan turns back to face him. “You've never told me that before, and it never crossed my mind that any of you lot would’ve taken the path I did.”_ _ _ _

____“Then that’s on us, little brother. Trust me, all of us have imagined being where you were and explored how we would have handled it, even if we never actually discussed it. I guess we were so focused on you that we didn’t bother to dig any deeper within ourselves. I, for one, am admitting that I may have done the same thing and I may have not found my way back,” Aramis confesses quietly. “I’ve seen so much shit, and I’ve done some things in the name of Queen and country that I probably should be ashamed of, a combination of captivity and drugs could have triggered something deep inside my head that I don’t even know is in there and made me not only an addict but maybe violent…or even paranoid, or possibly both._ _ _ _

____“I don’t believe that,” d’Artagnan says incredulously. “You’re probably the strongest person I know, because you have your faith as well, and that’s always kept you focused and sane.”_ _ _ _

____Aramis gives him a sad smile. “I’m flattered that’s how you see me, a little hero worship is good for the ego and the soul, but it’s not 100% true my dear boy. Sometimes I simply have put on a brave face, use humour to deflect and in the past, I’m embarrassed to say I used sex to block out the noise in my head," he says with a grimace. "Like all of us I’ve killed a lot of people lad, some of them in self-defence, and some of them truly deserved it but some of them were collateral damage, innocent lives caught up in a war zone; you have to be dead inside to not feel shame, regret and pain...I’d have to be a monster to not lie awake sometimes and think about it so _yes_ , I am telling you that if I’d tried heroin and it somehow blocked out all those thoughts I may have liked it enough to keep using it to erase the past.”_ _ _ _

____D’Artagnan is so stunned he needs to sit down. Aramis, who d’Artagnan has often clung to like a man drowning in his worst moments, is admitting that he could have gone down the same dark path._ _ _ _

____“I um, I hope my image hasn’t been too tarnished by my confession,” Aramis says tentatively, looking truly afraid that d’Artagnan is disappointed in him._ _ _ _

____“Jesus Christ, Aramis you could kill a van full of puppies and if still wouldn’t affect the love and respect I ‘ave for you! I’m just surprised, I’d felt so alone, I wish I’d known to be honest.”_ _ _ _

____“You’re right and I apologise for that, but we had to be so careful, everything we said, every move we made…I guess I was afraid that telling you about my own feelings and fears would have been selfish or possibly damaging to you while you were recovering.”_ _ _ _

____“I really can’t imagine this happening to Athos or Porthos though, Porthos has a family and responsibilities…”_ _ _ _

____“So do you, it doesn’t make a difference, it’s the devil in powder form, d’Artagnan, and it can get to anyone who has their guard down.”_ _ _ _

____“Athos too? He seems almost…bulletproof, with a will of steel.”_ _ _ _

____“Yes, that’s what it seems like, but inside he’s blood and muscle and bone like the rest of us, lad, though he’s already been down that road so maybe he would have been more resilient, possibly more determined to avoid it, but I can’t guarantee you that.”_ _ _ _

____“I feel a bit…blindsided,” d’Artagnan admits. “The three of you are usually so…solid.”_ _ _ _

____“It’s our business to be solid and trustworthy and responsible. When you’re on the job that’s what people say about you, by the way, especially since you’ve worked under Porthos.”_ _ _ _

____“Hmn, maybe, but Porthos rides my ass…hard.”_ _ _ _

____“Ha, that sounded vaguely dirty brother, but yes he does, because he wants you to shine, trust me.”_ _ _ _

____D’Artagnan snorts out a laugh. “That makes me picture a dancer or something.”_ _ _ _

____“Nah, you’re too tall for that, but you do have a really nice arse for those tights,” Aramis says suggestively._ _ _ _

____“You’d know, you’ve been checking it out all this time,” d’Artagnan fires back._ _ _ _

____“There’s nothing wrong with admiring a well-formed backside my boy.”_ _ _ _

____“And to think, all those years ago I was sure it was Constance’s well-formed backside you were admiring…more than was proper,” he says with mock sternness._ _ _ _

____Aramis throws up his hands. “I plead the 5th.”_ _ _ _

____“We ain’t got the 5th ‘ere, mate, that’s only for Americans. But yeah, ancient history an’ all that, as long as you’re not checking it out now.”_ _ _ _

____“No, I promise, just yours,” Aramis retorts and they both burst out laughing. It feels so comfortable and relaxed and d’Artagnan admits he’s starting to really feel normal again, so why does it bring tears to his eyes?”_ _ _ _

____“For fuck’s sake, lad, we were just laughing,” Aramis complains and throws a box of Kleenex into his lap._ _ _ _

____“Happy tears, mate, I promise,” he says, sniffling. “I’m back at work next week, on a desk of course but that’s ok. I need to ease back in, I’m a bit anxious though because everyone’s gonna be looking at me funny, they all think I’ve been on some super secret mission that messed with my ‘ead.”_ _ _ _

____“Isn’t that mostly what happened?” Aramis asks, one brow raising._ _ _ _

____“Mostly yes, but there’s these too,” d’Artagnan says and he bares his left arm._ _ _ _

____“By the time you’re wearing short sleeves they’ll have faded,” Aramis tells him reassuringly._ _ _ _

____“I’m gonna try laser treatments, to speed up the process, Treville said Louis will foot the bill, it’s fucking expensive you know.”_ _ _ _

____“I wouldn’t know, but I can imagine. I um, I don’t want to pry d’Artagnan but if you and Constance are struggling or need financial assistance all you need to do is ask for help.”_ _ _ _

____D’Artagnan stiffens. “Did Constance tell you that?”_ _ _ _

____“NO! It’s just I know you’ve been on sick leave for nearly three months, from the day you got home from Kabul, and I know how long it takes to process the medical reports and have it all approved…”_ _ _ _

____“Yeah, well again, Treville managed to speed up the process and I’ve gotten full pay from day one just a few days ago. And Constance was struggling and she didn’t say, that’s how she ended up doing those stomach tests in the A &E, and the mess that followed, she didn’t want to wait and she couldn’t afford a private doctor. The worst part was that she never even told me anything,” he says, still stinging from that complete cock up._ _ _ _

____“I’m sorry, d’Artagnan, she never said, lad, but again, everyone was focused on you and your recovery.”_ _ _ _

____“Don’t remind me, it’s just one more thing that I’m ashamed of. We’re still waiting on her test results, from the second gastroscopy. Reina, bless her, arranged it as soon as Constance was well enough to have it repeated, with a different aesthetic of course and early in the morning so she wouldn’t have to have an empty stomach all day.”_ _ _ _

____“You’re not still thinking that there’s something seriously wrong? Because Constance told me there probably isn’t.”_ _ _ _

____D’Artagnan nods. “No, I don’t think so, I just worry.”_ _ _ _

____Aramis gets to his feet and grabs his coat. “Alright, enough of this, I’m fucking starved, pizza or Asian? I could probably eat both and dessert, maybe two desserts, I wonder if I have a bloody tape worm or something, lately I’m hungry all the time, I should get checked out too, maybe they’ll find this massive worm and I’ll end up in the record books or whatever?”_ _ _ _

____What had Aramis said earlier? Deflection, humour…and sex…well that last one’s off the table, d’Artagnan thinks, and he can’t help, it he chuckles to himself._ _ _ _

____“What’s so funny about me having a massive tape worm?” Aramis grouses._ _ _ _

____D’Artagnan puts one arm around Aramis’ shoulder and gives him a squeeze before leading him to the door._ _ _ _

____“Nothing, I swear, and I’m sure you don’t have a tape worm…but if we find out that you do, and it’s record-breakingly massive like you hope, I promise to ring the Daily Mail myself.”_ _ _ _

____ _ _

____**_Now_ ** _ _ _ _

____ _ _

____His first day back at work could not have gone more bollocks up than it did if he’d actually _tried_ to fuck it up._ _ _ _

____As he’s lying on the filthy metal steps, blood pooling under his head he wonders if this is some mad-crazy nightmare or maybe penance for being such a stupid twat and messing up his life, over and over again._ _ _ _

____He manages to pull himself up until he’s sitting, and with trembling hands he rings Ryder._ _ _ _

____“I, um…well…look, can you just come to the stairs on the second floor mate, alone?” he asks tentatively._ _ _ _

____“Boss, what’s happened?”_ _ _ _

____“Please, just get ‘ere!”_ _ _ _

____D’Artagnan puts his mobile aside and tries to figure out why he’d lost his balance and tumbled down an entire flight of stairs. But his head won’t clear and his humiliation won’t allow him to focus on anything aside from the fact that he’d managed only a half a day at work before he’d passed out and hit his head…or had he hit his head and then passed out? He can’t be sure._ _ _ _

____“Boss, fuck, hey, hey, let me see,” Ryder is saying and d’Artagnan takes his hand away and wipes the blood uncaringly on his uniform trousers._ _ _ _

____“It not that bad, but there’s a lot of blood, and you may have a concussion, what happened?” his friend asks, clearly very concerned._ _ _ _

____“I ‘ave no idea, I just…fell,” he mumbles._ _ _ _

____Ryder takes a packet of tissues out of his vest pocket and wads up a few and presses them against the wound gently._ _ _ _

____“Alright, let’s go through the standard questions; have you eaten today?” Ryder asks._ _ _ _

____“No, just coffee, I was a bit…anxious,” d’Artagnan admits._ _ _ _

____“Hmn, have you started or stopped taking any medication or supplements?”_ _ _ _

____“Yes to both, but last week, not today.”_ _ _ _

____“Right, did you have a headache or feel in any way sick or dizzy before you fell?”_ _ _ _

____D’Artagnan sighs. “No, mate, I felt fine, I just…fell.”_ _ _ _

____“Your pulse is racing though, Aramis needs to check you over, Boss, you could have a serious head injury…”_ _ _ _

____D’Artagnan seethes. “If I’d wanted to see Aramis I would have rung Aramis! Look, can’t you just take me home, or at least stick me in a cab, I don’t think I can face anyone…”_ _ _ _

____“D’Artagnan, be reasonable!” Ryder hisses. “I know you’ve been through a lot, I’m your friend and I’m worried…”_ _ _ _

____“I stopped taking this medication for cardiac arrhythmia a few days ago, maybe it’s that,” he says, trying to brush him off. It is true though, his doctor had taken him off all the medication he’d been taking since his return from Kabul, and he hasn’t been eating much either, too much anxiety about his return to work._ _ _ _

____The door on the first floor landing opens and then Aramis appears, making d’Artagnan very, very cross with his teammate._ _ _ _

____“I texted him,” Ryder says honestly and he shrugs his shoulders. He takes the Kleenex away from the wound and puts it carefully on the step beside him. “If you want to give me a bollocking save it for later and let the medic check you out.”_ _ _ _

____“I really can’t leave you alone for a minute can I?” Aramis teases and he’s holding a small contraption onto which he inserts a tiny needle he’s taken from a plastic packet. “Blood sugar,” he says simply and pricks d’Artagnan’s finger._ _ _ _

____“I know what it is,” he grouses, and sucks his finger in his mouth. “Since when are you the medic here anyway?”_ _ _ _

____“I’m not, the nurse is away and Porthos has me filling in for a few weeks. I’m pretty sure I know what’s wrong, by the way, you’ve got low blood sugar, when’s the last time you ate?”_ _ _ _

____“Yesterday…at some point,” d’Artagnan replies vaguely because he just can’t remember._ _ _ _

____“Is he a’right?” Ryder asks worriedly._ _ _ _

____“Of course, just a bit stupid but that’s nothing new,” Aramis says matter-of-factly as he rummages in his bag. He takes out a packet of glucose gel, tears it open and hands it to d’Artagnan._ _ _ _

____“Swallow all of it,” he murmurs, and he’s looking in his bag again. He puts on a pair of sterile gloves and turns to Ryder. “Did you, um, get any blood n your hands?”_ _ _ _

____Ryder looks a bit startled but he shakes his head. “No, I didn’t actually touch the wound, I used a bunch of Kleenex.”_ _ _ _

____“Good, you know the rules, always wear gloves, lad, that’s why they’re in your vest pockets.”_ _ _ _

____“Of course,” Ryder replies and d’Artagnan decides if the earth were to swallow him up then and there he’d not be annoyed by it in any way because his humiliation just keeps growing by the second._ _ _ _

____They all look up and see that their little party has expanded and Porthos is standing at the bottom of the stairs, looking at d’Artagnan in absolute horror. “Jesus fuck lad, you a’right?”_ _ _ _

____“You texted ‘im too?” d’Artagnan snarls at Ryder._ _ _ _

____“No, that was me,” Aramis informs him while cleaning the back of his head and his hair with sterile wipes which he then places in a plastic bag along with the tissues that Ryder had used. “It’s actually not a big cut, head wounds bleed a lot, it’s already starting to clot.” He gives a few wipes to Ryder and tells him to clean his hands and those go in the bag as well along with the gloves Aramis removes._ _ _ _

____“Boss can I take the rest of the day off?” d’Artagnan asks Porthos tentatively because really, it’s his first day back and he hasn’t managed to make it through more than three hours._ _ _ _

____Porthos considers his request and shakes his head. “No.”_ _ _ _

____“What?” Aramis and Ryder both question at once, clearlry shocked._ _ _ _

____“Does ‘e have a concussion? Need stitches?” Porthos asks Aramis._ _ _ _

____“No,” Aramis admits, “But he has low blood sugar, he should go home, eat something and rest.”_ _ _ _

____“Ryder, go get ‘im some donuts and a sugary coffee,” Porthos practically commands. Ryder looks from Porthos to Aramis and then back to Porthos again. “Go on,” Porthos insists and Ryder sighs and hurries down the steps._ _ _ _

____D’Artagnan gets to his feet and dusts himself off. Porthos is right of course, no more coddling, he’ll never be his old self again if they coddle him. “The Boss is right, I’m fine Aramis, mostly just embarrassed.”_ _ _ _

____He mumbles his thanks to his friend and heads up one flight until he reaches his floor and thankfully no one looks at him oddly when he passes through the office and goes directly to the men’s room. Aramis must have gone back to his office but Porthos appears moments later in the toilet as d’Artagnan is washing his face._ _ _ _

____“If you really feel sick you can go home,” his friend tells him quietly. “I just thought it would be best if you tried to stay since you’re only doing data entry.”_ _ _ _

____“You’re right, brother, I should stay. But if I feel dizzy or sick I’ll be sure to vomit all over your desk.”_ _ _ _

____Porthos grins. “You probably would. I don’t want to push you though, lad, I know I did that before, when we came back from KabuI. I wanted you to be whole and well, and I’d missed the signs that you were feelin’ anxious after they’d sent you ‘ome.”_ _ _ _

____“That’s rubbish and you know it! It’s not your fault, nothing is your fault! All I had to do was tell you or any of the others and I didn’t. It’s on me that I didn’t trust you lot, my brothers, or Constance, please, we’ve discussed all of this, can’t we let it go?”_ _ _ _

____Porthos looks stricken. “Jesus lad, of course, I’m sorry…it’s just that…”_ _ _ _

____“It’s just that you’re all afraid you did something wrong. For the last time, brother, you fucking saved me, from there on the rest is on me.”_ _ _ _

____“Of course I saved you, stupid twat, did you think I’d leave it to anyone else?” he grouses. “I was shit-scared the whole fuckin’ time mind you, never been in that kind of situation before, but Aramis is one bad-ass motherfucker with an automatic rifle, he ‘ad my back, thank fuck. I’d never seen him like that before, in that mindset, you know in live combat, it was like ten years ‘adn’t passed since his discharge, ‘e just slid right back into it.”_ _ _ _

____D’Artagnan is a bit floored by that; of course he knows the story of his rescue even though he doesn’t remember much but the way Porthos describes the scene it sounds so much more harrowing. “You don’t forget, brother, you never forget,” d’Artagnan admits. He’d only done one six-month tour overseas but it had been enough to last him a lifetime._ _ _ _

____“Yeah, we’re damn lucky that mad-bastard didn’t forget a thing, I’ll tell you that. Let me ‘ave a look at your head, make sure it’s not bleeding.”_ _ _ _

____“Don’t touch though,” d’Artagnan warns. He’d been too dizzy to warn Ryder, good thing his friend hadn’t gotten any blood on his hands because he would have been too humiliated to explain._ _ _ _

____Porthos sighs. “I know, lad, I know.” The older man has a look at the cut and makes a sound like a satisfied grunt. “It’s not bleedin’ anymore so if you’re feeling fit it’s time to return to your desk…Boss.”_ _ _ _

____D’Artagnan smiles. “I’ve missed that you know, being in charge, in control, knowing that I’m good enough to run the show under pressure.”_ _ _ _

____Porthos grins. “Oi, your ego is showing…and it looks good on you, mate.”_ _ _ _

____D’Artagnan looks at himself in the mirror; he knows Porthos doesn’t mean that literally but d’Artagnan acknowledges that just about all signs of his ordeal have been wiped away and he sees nothing but his old self; his old, sometimes cocky, always confident, self._ _ _ _

____“Crack on, before you break the mirror with your ugly mug!”_ _ _ _

____D’Artagnan bursts out laughing. “Oi, don’t be jealous,” he teases._ _ _ _

____“You’ve got two minutes to get to your desk, Commander,” Porthos growls with mock anger and he leaves._ _ _ _

____I am one lucky bastard, d’Artagnan thinks as he watches his friend and boss go._ _ _ _

_____God, if you’re listening, please help me to not fuck it up this time._ _ _ _ _

____ _ _

____**_Now_ ** _ _ _ _

____**** _ _ _ _

____On the worst day of his life d’Artagnan had gone looking to buy heroin on the street like a common junkie._ _ _ _

____He’d done so after convincing himself that his life and his relationships would never be the same again. He’d been wrong of course, about everything. He’d misjudged Athos and Aramis’ patience and thought they were patronizing him, while Constance was not afraid of him, just for him. Porthos had thought the best way to help was to quickly put the whole thing behind them and Sylvie had no intention of firing him, she’d simply wanted him to get well and not worry about returning to work._ _ _ _

____D’Artagnan knows all of this now, and if he’d discussed any of this with even one of them or bothered to attend his counselling sessions he may not have gone looking for drugs. And even if everyone in his life had actually been against him, Rory had told him quite sternly, he should have reached out to a support group, there were so many available, or even to Rory himself, with whom they’d kept a friendly relationship over the past few years._ _ _ _

____He barely remembers leaving his flat that day, walking up and down the busy streets of his respectable middle-class neighbourhood, hoping to find something, anything to take the edge off. In the end a kid with a Mohawk and a face tattoo had approached him; d’Artagnan guessed he’d had that look, the desperation painted clearly on his face and the kid had walked right up to him, offered him a discounted sample and told him where he could find him. The rest is history._ _ _ _

____Constance had known at once something wasn’t right but she’d been patient at first, even when he’s started sleeping on the sofa, but she hadn’t suspected that he was using heroin. A few days later they’d had a massive row over him being so off, so wrong that he could barely hold his son and Constance had taken the baby and left, but not before telling Athos to step in and get him help. He’ll always be grateful to her for that, taking Theo away before he could accidentally hurt his child, something that would have been the end of him for sure. Those few days were a blur now but the horror of the following weeks would live with him forever, and that was a good thing; he’ll never let that happen again, never willingly or unwillingly fall down the rabbit hole again, ever._ _ _ _

____But that’s all behind him now and here is, back on the job, the uniform like a second skin and the weight of his kit and his weapons as comfortable as an old friend, his mind and his conscience clear at last._ _ _ _

____The only thing that’s standing in his way of a successful first mission and complete failure though is the 10 kilograms of heroin sitting neatly packaged on the table in front of him, the slice that Mouse had cut into the plastic-wrapped parcel spilling a fine trail of powder down the side of it and onto the scarred wood surface of the old work top._ _ _ _

____There’s a lot of chaos in the abandoned wood-working shop in east London where a group of anarchists were trading heroin for bomb making materials and if d’Artagnan is looking a bit shell-shocked, well thankfully no one has noticed. Beetle and Jane, who is now training with them full-time are handcuffing the suspects while Ryder coordinates their transfer to Counter-terrorism headquarters with the local police who’ve come along on the raid as support._ _ _ _

____“We’re done here, Boss, forensics wants to move in, says we’re _‘muckin’ up their schedule’,_ ” Mouse says sarcastically, complete with air quotes. _ _ _ _

____D’Artagnan drags his gaze away from the table and back to his friend. “Yeah, mate, we’re done ‘ere, good job, lads…and ladies…” he adds giving Jane a lopsided grin. Once again he relishes the feeling of being called _Boss_ again, not because he’s on some kind of power trip, but because it means that Sylvie and Porthos have trusted him enough to hold the lives of his Unit in his hands once again. _ _ _ _

____D’Artagnan though has no idea if his superiors had known that drugs would be involved; the brief he’d been given spoke of anarchists and bomb making, and a tiny part of him wonders if he was purposely being tested but he quickly pushes that thought aside since his rational brain knows full well that Sylvie would never breach protocol and leave something so significant out of the intel._ _ _ _

____He’s much more relaxed as they pile into the Range Rover, Jane behind the wheel and d’Artagnan takes the passenger seat, the other three good-naturedly ribbing each other about their collective girth as they squeeze into the back seat._ _ _ _

____“We’re gonna need a bigger vehicle Boss if we’re keeping the lassie,” Beetle teases and Jane smirks and flips him the bird._ _ _ _

____“Maybe the three of you should go on a diet instead?” she shoots back. “You’re all lookin’ a bit thick around the waist I think.”_ _ _ _

____That brings a howl of outrage from Mouse, who is the largest of all of them and probably could stand to lose a few kilos and the banter continues on the drive back to headquarters. D’Artagnan takes the time to let Constance know all is well as she replies to his text with a heart, a smile and a kiss as well as a vegetable emoji that Reina once informed him means sex and he’s grinning from ear to ear for the rest of the car ride._ _ _ _

____Back at their offices D’Artagnan once again congratulates and thanks his Unit before heading straight to Porthos’ office to give him a full report._ _ _ _

____He finds Athos there instead, which is not unusual in itself but he hadn’t expected him. Porthos is apparently in a meeting with the brass and Athos says he’s waiting for him to finish. But d’Artagnan knows this man too well and can tell from his expression that there is more to this visit._ _ _ _

____He takes the automatic weapon off his shoulder and settles it carefully on Porthos’ desks, checking the safety twice before he sits down across from Athos who is cheekily occupying Porthos’ chair._ _ _ _

____“Well, go on, tell me why you’re really here,” d’Artagnan says good-naturedly._ _ _ _

____Athos twists his mouth into a half smile and he nods. “Glad to know I can’t fool you; you must be on your toes at all times brother, good to see that you are._ _ _ _

____D’Artagnan chuckles. “Yes well we’ve spent years living in each other’s pockets, if I can’t tell when you’re fucking with me I shouldn’t be here, should I?”_ _ _ _

____Athos nods. “Quite right. Now tell me, because frankly I’ve been dying to know, how did it go?"_ _ _ _

____“How did you even know? It was classified.”_ _ _ _

____It’s Athos’ turn to chuckle. “Spymaster, remember? I know everything.”_ _ _ _

____D’Artagnan nods. “Yeah, I guess you do. And it went fine, better than fine, there was ten kilos of heroin on the premises as well so no chance of them ever getting out of prison.”_ _ _ _

____Athos is very careful to control his reaction but d’Artagnan knows all of his ticks and when Athos lifts his chin ever so slightly he knows that his friend is concerned. But before the older man can even ask d’Artagnan holds up both hands._ _ _ _

____“You want to know if I was ok and I’ve got nothing to hide so I’ll gladly tell you everything,” he begins and Athos nods and gives him the chance to explain._ _ _ _

____“I didn’t expect to find heroin and that’s a good thing because I can honestly tell you that my first reaction was shock but I swear to you I shook it off immediately and at no time was I tempted, Athos,” d’Artagnan tells him sincerely. “I could have easily dipped my finger into it, no one would have seen or suspected but I didn’t, but more importantly I didn’t _want_ to.” _ _ _ _

____Athos nods slowly. “I know you didn’t but I’m glad you’ve told me, regardless. Keeping secrets leads to disaster,” he adds, rubbing absently at his right leg and d’Artagnan knows he’s talking about himself as well._ _ _ _

____“Well now that we’ve got that out of the way, I’ve got some free time, should we go find Aramis and have a dodgy cafeteria lunch?” d’Artagnan asks._ _ _ _

____“And Porthos you cheeky bugger. You, mate, outta my chair, that’s sacrilegious you know, no one sits in my chair. And you, get rid of that weapon, you checked it out now go check it back in before I write you up for it!”_ _ _ _

____Porthos looks so imposing in his dark suit and stern expression that d’Artagnan springs to his feet and grabs his gun. “Sorry sir,” he says contritely. “I wanted to give you a report first and I found ‘im ‘ere.”_ _ _ _

____“Well this is cozy,” Aramis says from the doorway and d’Artagnan slings the weapon over his shoulder to free his hands and he pulls Aramis inside and shuts the door. Porthos looks like he might protest but d’Artagnan sees him share a look with Athos, who has now vacated his chair._ _ _ _

____The four of them are standing there quite awkwardly and d’Artagnan takes a deep breath._ _ _ _

____“I just told Athos so I should tell you lot as well. The raid went off without a hitch but I’ll fill you in on the details later, Boss” he says to Porthos but then he makes eye contact with each one of them individually before he continues. “And there was heroin…a lot of it…and it was spilling onto the table just inches away from me.”_ _ _ _

____Aramis shoves his hands in his trouser pockets and waits patiently but Porthos looks like he’s going to explode so Athos, bless him, reaches out and grabs his arm._ _ _ _

____“Steady brother, let the child finish.”_ _ _ _

____D’Artagnan rolls his eyes at the moniker but he lets it go. “But I didn’t touch it and I had no desire to. So yeah, that happened,” he says nervously, afraid of what might be going through their heads and Aramis breaks the tension by giving him a one armed hug, careful not to knock into the deadly weapon slung over d’Artagnan’s shoulder._ _ _ _

____“I feel like a proud father,” Aramis says with an exaggerated sniff._ _ _ _

____Porthos’ expression softens at once and his shoulders relax. “I knew you’d bounce back, you always do,” his boss tells him and shockingly the big man’s eyes have gone damp._ _ _ _

____“Porthos, it will undermine your authority if you begin to sob in front of your subordinates,” Athos mocks but Porthos doesn’t seem to care and he lets one tear fall before swiping at his eyes._ _ _ _

____“Right, well now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, how about lunch? D’Artagnan, you’ve got ten minutes to get rid of that thing and change into street clothes, you look far too intimidating dressed like that for a quiet lunch at Dino’s, even I feel a bit uncomfortable,” Aramis teases and the tension immediately melts away. Deflection, humour and sex, Aramis’ patented ways of diffusing any awkward situation and of course it always works._ _ _ _

____They all laugh and Porthos takes the lead and they head for the lift together._ _ _ _

____“I’ll bring the car ‘round to reception,” Porthos says, pressing minus one for the parking garage._ _ _ _

____“We’ll never find a place to park,” Aramis warns._ _ _ _

____Porthos grins. “Blue light, mate, I can park anywhere. Besides, I’m not takin’ an Uber again, not after what ’appened last time,” he warns and they all laugh, remembering Porthos’ first and last Uber experience with a driver who’d spent most of the time on the wrong side of the road._ _ _ _

____“I’ll go with you,” Athos chimes in._ _ _ _

____Aramis presses two. “I’ve got to lock my office, I’ll meet you out front.”_ _ _ _

____“Hit one mate, I’ve got to get rid of this canon, it’s killing my shoulder,” d’Artagan complains._ _ _ _

____The door closes but Porthos grunts and moves to the panel and presses stop._ _ _ _

____“I um, I’ve got something to say,” the big man tells them quietly, suddenly very serious._ _ _ _

____“Now, brother? My stomach is grumbling!” Aramis complains. “I think I may have a tapeworm.”_ _ _ _

____“Just one thing you idiot, calm your arse! Now,” Porthos says and he looks at the three of them, his eyes damp once again. “I know this is cheesy but we used to say it back when and I feel like it needs to be said again.”_ _ _ _

____Athos raises one brow but says nothing, giving Porthos a second to compose himself. The big man clears his throat and puts out his right hand._ _ _ _

____“All for one?” he says, his voice catching just slightly as he says the words._ _ _ _

____Immediately their arms go out and they pile their hands on top of Porthos’._ _ _ _

____This is it, d’Artagnan thinks, this is us together again, mostly whole and mostly sane and it feels like everything has finally fallen back into place._ _ _ _

____They all share a look and d’Artagnan sees brotherhood, respect and love reflected in their gazes and he knows that everything will be ok…that he’ll be ok._ _ _ _

____“And one for all.”_ _ _ _

____**** _ _ _ _

____****The End…for good this time!!!!** ** _ _ _ _

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s note; I have researched detox programs and created one for my character based on hours of going through whatever I could find online about detoxing from heroin without Methadone but if you know something more than me please let me know and I will happily make corrections to the story. I have never been addicted to drugs but at some point in my life two people close to me have been (one forced into rehab, locked rooms and all, due to other issues) and I am aware that it’s a long and difficult road to recovery, I hope I’ve done the whole process justice without causing offence because that was never my intention. I have however, had persistent atrial fibrillation due to severe dehydration, more CT scans than you can count, a gatroscopy (spoiler it hasn’t happened yet) and a few other experiences that I’ve added here and there or tweaked to fit the story. Write what you know is what I’ve heard so I’ve kind of done that as well as used my Google-Fu to try and create a complete and comprehensive story.
> 
> * SAS are UK Special Forces
> 
> * ANA is Afghan National Army


End file.
